


Melethron: The Ancient Path

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [9]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No price is too high to pay if a priceless friendship is at stake. If it's worth having, it's worth saving. Ninth story in a series chronicling the millennia spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Offense

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._

Mirkwood, _laer_ T.A. 1628   
The company of Elven rangers halted in a small clearing of Mirkwood. It was nearing sunset in the world outside but under the eaves of the great forest, it would soon be as dark as night. Only in such spots as these where the trees did not form an almost impenetrable canopy above did the sun make its presence known. The Elves set about making camp.

Oreth, the captain of the company, approached a fair-haired Elf who was engaged in fetching wood for the campfires. The _Edhel_ appeared younger and also slighter of build than most of his comrades. But no one could have mistaken him for anything but a warrior for he moved with a cat-like grace that hinted at battle-honed reflexes. And though lithe and slender, there was no lack of muscle or strength in his form and limbs. 

“Legolas,” Oreth said. “May I have a word with you in private?”

The youngest son of Thranduil nodded and put down his burden. There was no resentment at being addressed thusly. Indeed, none of the three Elf-lords in the company would have taken exception. For though Legolas and his friends, the brethren Elladan and Elrohir, were of high and ancient lineage, they were also warriors with a deeply ingrained sense of duty. And that included submitting to the authority of those placed above them in rank or seniority.

The twins had arrived in Mirkwood the week before for a fortnight's visit; responsibilities in Rivendell allowed them no more than the briefest of stays. It had been many years since they had set foot in the Woodland Realm and much had changed since. For one, the brethren had matured considerably. Known for their high spirits and sometimes intemperate pursuit of adventure and pleasure, the brothers had surprised everyone with their more restrained behavior. 

It was a change that disappointed a few but pleased many more, King Thranduil most of all. He had often despaired that they would influence his youngest son into behaving as they did and, considering Legolas’ own youthful ingenuity when it came to getting into trouble, his anxiety had been understandable.

The other change was from without. Orcs had always infested the Misty Mountains but of late they had become more numerous and quite bold and had taken to harassing the borders of Mirkwood. And the spiders that lurked in the deeps of the dark woods were also increasing and daring to spin their webs closer to the Woodland Realm than was comfortable for its people. 

The latter change was the primary reason for the scouting party that wove its way through Northern Mirkwood. Thranduil intended to keep his people safe even if it meant hunting down each and every spider that had nested dangerously close to his kingdom or scouring the borders to ensure they would not be despoiled by marauding orcs. The Woodland Realm had flourished for many an age and its king was not about to permit it to diminish from lack of vigilance or foresight.

As soon as the twins learned that Legolas would be leaving on this sortie, they insisted on joining the scouting party as well. Thranduil had known better than to forbid them to go. Change for the better they may have done but the King was taking no chances. While their days of indefatigable and unfettered trouble making were long behind them, the twins still indulged themselves in a bit of mayhem mongering now and then. Their eyes betrayed that mischief yet lurked within and was just awaiting an excuse to burst out and wreak havoc as of old. Better to let them unleash their restless energies on orcs and spiders than on the hapless inhabitants of his halls! 

Elrohir watched Legolas follow the captain away from the clearing. A frown etched his fair face. He was uneasy and felt a need to do something about that uneasiness. As his twin crouched down beside him, he came to a decision. 

“Elladan, finish this for me,” he murmured, indicating the small fire he was building.

Elladan asked, “Why, where are you going?”

“After Legolas,” came the terse reply.

“Whatever for?”

“I am not sure. Call it intuition if you wish.” With that, he rose and hurried after the Elven prince and his captain.

He tracked them to a nearby glen where the lowering sun still managed to cast some of it red-gold beams. Legolas was standing to one side, still as a young beech tree, arms folded, face expressionless. In the slowly fading light he looked almost delicate, his hair seemingly spun from silver and gold, his sun-dappled skin aglow with soft color. 

On the other hand, Oreth seemed restless for he did not face the prince but paced about a while. Elrohir settled into the thick brush. From his place of concealment he could see but not be seen and he could hear whatever needed to be heard. 

“What did you wish to speak to me about?” Legolas asked at length.

Oreth glanced up at him. There was a speculative gleam in his dark eyes. He came close to the younger Elf.

“We have been away for nigh on five days and I am getting weary of it,” he began. Legolas simply raised one dark golden eyebrow. Five days of scouring the dark wood was not very long by any standard. The captain noted his surprise and smiled. “Nay, ‘tis not the length of time of this mission that troubles me but the length of time spent away from any chances of – release,” he said. The hesitation before the last word underscored its significance “Do you understand what I mean?”

Legolas remained expressionless. “I think I do,” he quietly replied.

“Do you?” murmured the older Elf. “Then perhaps you already know why I brought you here.” When the prince did not respond, his smiled widened. “This is the first time you have served under me, Legolas, and I admit I have been distracted by your presence since we set out. You are more attractive than rumor would have it. So much more comely than either of your brothers.”

His words carried easily to where Elrohir lay. The Rivendell Elf felt his stomach turn. What was Oreth thinking?

The captain stepped closer to the prince. “You do not speak.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Legolas said.

Oreth grinned. “That perhaps you feel as I do? That we can spend this time together in mutual, shall we call it, easing of certain desires?” He raised a hand to stroke one of the tiny braids behind the prince’s ear. 

Legolas suddenly jerked his head away. “I do not think so,” he replied.

Oreth stared at him in surprise. His eyes narrowed. “You watch me closely enough, golden one,” he murmured. “I do not think you mean what you say.”

“I always watch my captains,” Legolas answered evenly. "'Tis my duty to know what they may need before they must ask for it.”

“Need,” Oreth repeated. “Aye, I do have a need. And if you indeed knew your duty you would meet it.”

Legolas’s blue eyes darkened ominously. “That I will not,” he said. He turned away. 

“Legolas, I did not give you leave to go!” Oreth snapped. The prince halted but did not turn around. 

Elrohir tensed as Oreth curled his arms around the archer’s shoulders from behind. Legolas remained immobile but his face had gone pale with – what? Elrohir wondered why his friend did nothing.

Oreth raised one hand and brushed the long golden tresses aside baring one side of Legolas’ neck. “You should know better than to defy your captain,” he murmured. Legolas visibly shuddered when the older Elf pressed his lips to his neck.

He twisted out of the captain’s arms. “I think ‘tis time we returned to the others, Oreth.” His tone was harder, threatening. But the captain made no move to go back. Legolas once more turned away to leave.

Oreth grabbed him by an arm, spun him around roughly. “I think not,” he grated. Elrohir sucked in his breath, shocked at the Elf’s boldness. His hand moved to the dagger at his belt.

Oreth had grasped the younger Elf’s wrists. His face was but a mere inch from the prince’s. He said persuasively, “Why resist? I could teach you things you have never known. You might find that you like the experience.” When Legolas did not protest by word or deed, he smirked. Confident he had intimidated his prey, he released one of the prince’s hands and began to unfasten the fair _Edhel_ ’s tunic.

Just as Elrohir rose to a crouch to rush the pair, Legolas exploded into action. Elrohir did not know what the prince did; he only saw the result. One moment the younger Elf was motionless, seemingly helpless as Oreth undid his tunic. In the next, he had grabbed Oreth’s wrist with his free hand and, in a startling flurry of motion, had flipped the captain over on to the ground. 

Oreth landed on his stomach with a jolt. Before he could recover his breath, Legolas had straddled his back and twisted his arms behind him. The prince spoke in a voice that jarred the captain into apprehension. “Did you think I would allow you to force me into servicing your base needs?” he said. “I am no mere warrior whom you can coerce or compel by abusing the authority given you.”

He leaned down and hissed, “I will forget this incident for you are a good captain despite this weakness of yours. But I warn you not to try my patience again or take from others what they do not wish to give. All your past service and valor will avail you not if I should hear of another such incident. I will be watching you closely, Oreth, remember that!”

He let go of the older Elf and rose to his feet. Calmly, he refastened his tunic while waiting for the other Elf to rise. Oreth, his face flushed with humiliation got to his feet. Legolas coolly leveled his gaze at him. “As I earlier said, ‘tis time we returned.” 

Oreth glared at him but knew there was little he could do in retaliation. He dusted himself off and strode away. Legolas coldly watched him go. As the prince moved to follow, he heard a slight rustle. He spun around warily, yanking a white-hilted _sigil_ from its sheath.

“Hold, Legolas, ‘tis only me!”

Legolas stared in surprise as Elrohir emerged from the bushes. “What are you doing here?” he asked sheathing his knife once more.

Elrohir flushed slightly. “I followed you.”

“Why?”

The raven-haired Elf shrugged. “I felt there was something wrong,” he said. “Oreth has been watching you closely all this week.”

“As I was watching him,” Legolas pointed out.

“Nay, his look was different,” Elrohir responded. “I knew he wanted something else from you. There have been unsavory rumors about him after all.” He glanced at the fair-haired archer. “I was not sure what he intended to do when he asked you to go with him. But I did not want to wait for my suspicions to be confirmed.”

Legolas lips formed into a small smile. “ _Gwador_ , I can take care of myself,” he reminded his friend.

“So you proved. How did you do that? I have never seen anything so fast. You must teach me that particular move.”

The prince laughed softly. “When we get back to my father’s halls,” he promised.

They started back toward camp. “What about Oreth?” Elrohir asked curiously. “Are you really going to let him go unpunished after what he tried to do to you?”

Legolas sighed. “Oreth is a good captain,” he explained. “We cannot afford to put aside someone like him; not in these times. Mirkwood is too perilous now for us to entrust our warriors to inexperienced or incapable leaders, no matter how noble or loyal they may be. But I told him I would be watching him and I meant what I said. That should ensure that no more of his Elves will have to endure his twisted desires.” He glanced at Elrohir. "'Tis the reason I asked to join this mission.”

Elrohir gaped at him in amazement. “Do you mean you used yourself as bait to trap him?” he exclaimed.

“Someone had to. I knew he would be attracted to me.”

“You were so certain? You think highly of your face and form!” 

“Nay, I only acted upon what I had heard of his tastes. I am not a novice at this, Elrohir!”

“I am sorry, I did not mean to imply that. But how did you ensure that he would indeed take the bait?”

“Oh, a glance here, a brush of the hand there, perhaps a smile once in a while.”

“You encouraged him?” Elrohir stared at his friend.

Legolas shrugged. “If he was encouraged, ‘twas because he wished to deduce more from my actions than there was in truth.”

To this Elrohir could only shake his head in amazement. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

******************************************  
Glossary:  
melethron – male lover   
laer – Sindarin for summer  
gwador – sworn brother

_To be continued…_


	2. Undeclared

“What are you brooding over, _muindor_?”—brother—Elladan asked. For the better part of dinner, Elrohir had spent his time staring into the flames of one of the campfires, deep in thought.

It was pitch dark and somewhat stuffy. To the Mirkwood Elves, it was as expected. But for the twins, born and bred in the openness of Rivendell, it was unnerving and repressive. They were used to seeing the stars, to walking in open spaces. This forest afforded them neither luxury. No matter how many times they had helped patrol Mirkwood they had never really gotten used to its closeness. But they had come along for friendship’s sake. Where Legolas was there they intended to be. 

Elrohir glanced at his twin as the latter sat down cross-legged beside him. He knew it would be futile to try hiding anything from his brother. What Elladan could not get through persistent questioning he would divine from close study of his twin.

They were very alike and, at first glance or from a short distance, difficult to tell apart. For the sake of quick identification, something necessary out on the field, they always arranged their raven locks differently to help others distinguish them easily from each other. To this end, Elladan had adopted the slender braids favored by the Mirkwood Elves to keep his hair from his face, whereas Elrohir had bound his tresses into a single thick plait in the manner of Men.

“I was thinking about what happened between Legolas and Oreth,” he murmured.

“But nothing happened,” Elladan said. “Truth be told, I was surprised when you set off after them. Legolas has always been able to take care of himself.”

“I know. It’s just that…” Elrohir sighed. “I could not help myself. When I guessed what Oreth’s intentions might be I – I could not help myself,” he said once more.

Elladan studied his twin. "'Tis that problem again, isn’t it,” he murmured. Elrohir’s only response was to color up slightly. “I thought you had managed to control it.”

Elrohir shook his head. "'Tis even worse,” he replied.

Elladan let out his breath. “You should tell Legolas,” he softly suggested.

His brother stared at him. “Are you mad?” he said. “He would hate me!”

“You do not know that.”

“And you did not see him with Oreth! He looked quite capable of flaying him alive.”

“Oreth is not his friend. You are. You are dearer to him than his own brothers.”

“All the more reason not to chance ruining whatever closeness we share,” Elrohir retorted.

Elladan had no answer for that. “If only you had met someone else—”

Elrohir shook his head. “I do not think that would have averted what has happened to me. What I have ever felt for anyone else is altogether different from what I now feel for—”

“What are you two plotting?”

Both brothers started as Legolas came up from behind and sat down facing them. 

“Since when did you take to creeping up on your friends?” Elladan said a little crossly, put out at having been caught off guard by the prince.

“I did not creep up, Elladan. You were so engrossed in your discussion, a horde of orcs could have come upon you and you would not have noticed!” At the rueful grins of the brothers, Legolas chuckled. “So what were you talking about? You’re not dreaming up one of your schemes again, are you?”

“Schemes? We do not indulge in such frivolous games out here in the wild, Legolas Thranduilion!”—son of Thranduil—Elladan announced virtuously.

Legolas snorted skeptically. He looked at Elrohir who remained half hidden at his twin’s side. Oddly, it seemed as if he preferred to remain half hidden. “You are so quiet, Elrohir,” he commented.

Elrohir glanced at him. “I have nothing to say,” he replied with a shrug.

Legolas stared at him. “What? A Peredhel with nothing to say? I did not think it possible!”

Elladan took pity on his brother and sought to divert Legolas’ attention to another subject. “He is only feeling the effects of prolonged chastity,” he quipped. 

He deemed it a safe observation for the twins’ unconventional (by elven standards) predilection for casual bed-play was known to all. Nothing dampened their need to experiment and explore. Fortunately for them, their sexual adventurism was often attributed to the _Edain_ side of their heritage and thus shielded them for the most part from more than mild disapproval.

Legolas grinned. "'Tis a matter of astonishment to me how greedy you two are for more than what is good for either of you. A few love affairs I can understand but you seem to aim for quantity!” 

“At least, we shall have sown all our wild seed when we finally settle down into wedded life,” Elladan shot back.

“Just take care that that is all you sow lest your future wives find themselves the only ones unable to provide you with heirs.”

“Legolas, we have never and are not about to father children out of wedlock,” Elladan said virtuously. “That is not the way of the Eldar!”

“And your promiscuity is?”

“Ha! The pot dares call the kettle black! You are no innocent, _mellonen_ , yet you do not have the excuse of Half-elven forefathers to defend yourself!”

“I am no innocent, true, but neither do I chase after every maiden in sight as you do. I am much more restrained, selective and discreet. You would be hard-pressed to name any maid I have dallied with.”

Before his brother could come up with an appropriate response, Elrohir suddenly asked, “What did you feel about Oreth’s behavior toward you, Calenlass?”

The other two stared at him in surprise. Elladan warily glanced at his twin, one eyebrow going up in inquiry. Elrohir only shook his head slightly.

“I was appalled by his actions,” Legolas swiftly answered. 

“You find his interest in his own kind offensive?” Elrohir probed.

“Nay, his desire for me or any _ellon_ is not what offended me,” Legolas said. "'Twas his use of his position to get what he wanted that repelled me. No one should have to submit to another against his or her wishes. If Oreth conducted his affairs with willing partners, I would not interfere nor would it be my right to do so.”

“But you called his desire twisted.”

“Not his desire in itself but the means by which he sought to quench it. Why are you asking me this, Elrohir?”

“I am curious, that is all,” Elrohir replied. “You have been more exposed to such attentions since we last spoke of this. I wondered whether your thoughts on the matter had changed as well.”

Legolas smiled. “I admit I still do not completely understand the attraction between two males as you two do. There is a rightness, a harmony between a male and a female despite the differences of thought and heart and form, or perhaps I should say precisely because of them. I cannot fathom what two _ellyn_ could offer each other when there is only…” He trailed off for want of the right word.

“There is symmetry,” Elrohir said tersely. His brother sneaked a look at him.

Legolas’s eyes widened. “I had not thought of that,” he commented. “Is it the very sameness of thought and body that draws other Elves to their own kind?”

“Not even between two males _or_ two females is there complete sameness,” Elrohir replied. “The rules of attraction between two people apply to everyone. You do not love or desire because of any rational reason; you simply feel it.” 

Legolas studied him with newfound interest. “You have delved deeply into this matter,” he remarked. 

Elrohir colored once more. 

“Curiosity is a remarkable tool for learning,” Elladan smoothly put in. “Are you not curious about what it would be like to have a male lover, Legolas?” He pretended not to notice the rather painful nudge his twin dealt him.

Startled, Legolas could only mutely shake his head at first. When he finally did speak, he said, “I confess I have never even felt the need to think about it.”

At this Elrohir straightened up and blurted out, “Yet you allowed Sirgon certain liberties before he died!”

Legolas stared at him in shock. “How did you know _that_?” he demanded. “Only my father knew what happened that night.”

Elrohir’s blush darkened. “Nay, we came to Sirgon’s chamber to see how he was. We saw you then. But when we saw your father approaching, we hid.”

Legolas gazed at him, his eyes narrowed. Elrohir worried that he should not have revealed their knowledge of that night’s events. That neither he nor Elladan had told anyone of what they had witnessed did not diminish the feeling that they had intruded on something very personal to their friend. 

The prince lowered his eyes to the campfire. He stared at the dancing flames.

“What I did was not for my sake but for his,” Legolas quietly stated. “He had suffered greatly when I could not return his passion. And he was dying. I wanted him to go into the darkness loved and cared for, even in the limited capacity of which I was capable.” He sighed. “Had he not been on his deathbed, I would not have allowed him those liberties.” He lifted his eyes and met Elrohir’s grey gaze. “I hope that satisfies your curiosity?”

Elrohir knew that he should end the subject but he needed to know just one more thing. “Did you consider him twisted for loving you?” he softly asked. 

Legolas fell silent as he considered his answer. At length he shook his head. “Nay, not twisted. Only – bent. At least, he truly loved me. The twisted ones are those like Oreth who take out of lust and little or no love.”

He suddenly rose, the simple movement imbued with more grace and elegance than was evident even among the Elves. “Good night, _mellynen_.”—my friends.

“Good night, Legolas,” Elladan said. Elrohir simply nodded his response.

The brothers watched him walk to his place among the other rangers already stretched out on their cloaks. Elladan glanced at his brother. “What did you hope to find out?” he asked.

Elrohir sighed. “Enough to know that it will not be wise to tell him anything. He still feels uneasy about love between Elves of the same kind.”

“But he is fair,” Elladan protested. “He does not despise those who are different from him nor does he condemn them.”

“So he says now. But I wonder what he would think if he were once more made to endure such attention. I have not forgotten how it was with Sirgon or with Oreth today.”

“Elrohir—”

“For the love you bear me, do not tell him, Elladan. Do not chance marring whatever is between us.”

Elladan gave him a pained look. "'Tis not the way to happiness, _gwanneth nîn_.”—my younger twin.

Elrohir’s expression was grim. "'Tis better than the road to heartbreak. Keep my secret if you do not wish to bring down more hurt upon me.”

oOoOoOo

The following day found the company at the edge of a lightless, seemingly airless clearing. What air there was, was thick with the stench of rot and waste. Here the sun did not enter, its rays unable to penetrate the tightly interlocking branches, leaves and vines above. Yet the Elves bore only the most slender and dimmest of torches, their light just barely enough to illuminate a nightmare setting.

The clearing was strung with spider webs the size of a full-grown Elf. On one upper corner of a deceptively gossamer sheet was a large and hideous shape, its multi-faceted eyes gleaming in the dark, long hairy legs quiescent for the moment. It was surrounded by numerous, smaller shapes, all crawling restlessly across the thick viscous strands of the webs. 

“Why did you hunt for this particular spider?” whispered Elladan. He and Legolas were hidden in the thick foliage of a large tree. Every tree in the vicinity concealed two or three rangers, all awaiting the signal to attack the creatures. “This place is quite far from your realm.”

“Her nest is too close to one of our paths,” Legolas whispered back. “She has already taken some of our people to feed her brood.” He glanced at Elladan questioningly. “Why did Elrohir not come with us?”

Elladan hoped the dim light would not betray his expression of concern. How to tell Legolas that Elrohir had felt supremely uncomfortable about being in such close proximity to him after last night’s discussion? He was saved from responding when they heard what sounded like a birdcall emanating from one of the trees.

Suddenly, arrows rained down on the creatures. There was an unearthly shriek as the mother spider rallied its offspring and sounded the alarm. A multitude of black bodies began to converge on the clearing. Within minutes the small space was crawling with dark hirsute shapes. 

The arrows had easily dispatched the smaller spiders with their still soft skins. But the large ones were another matter. Their hides were thick and tough. It would need sword and knife to slice through to the point of effecting sufficient damage or death.

Another birdcall signaled the scouts to descend from their perches and fall upon the scurrying spiders. Legolas and Elladan lightly dropped from their tree, blades out and flashing. There was a terrific melee as the spiders sought to beat off their attackers and, failing that, bring down as many with them as they could.

Legolas soon got separated from Elladan as he slew or wounded beast after beast, white _sigil_ stabbing, slashing and slicing. He had just finished off one creature when another one crashed down on his back from above forcing him to the ground. 

Knowing that one good bite from the creature would paralyze him, Legolas desperately twisted around and stabbed at it. But his position did not permit him to wound it effectively enough to force it to release him. He felt the tips of fangs against his shoulder. Dropping his knife he grabbed at the creature’s head with his hands and, with every ounce of his strength, sought to keep the deadly fangs away from his flesh.

Suddenly, the creature reared up, screaming with pain. Legolas saw the rise and fall of a sword as it cleaved the spider’s flesh repeatedly. With only mild surprise, he realized that salvation had come in the form of Elrohir. What astonished him by far was the ferocity with which the Elf-warrior was attacking the spider. He looked fell and furious. Legolas almost did not recognize his friend in the implacable killer above him.

Elrohir kicked the spider carcass off the prince with more force than seemed necessary. Silently he reached out his hand to Legolas and, when the latter took it, pulled him to his feet.

“Your timing was impeccable, _gwador_ ,” Legolas said with a rueful smile.

Elrohir only nodded. Before Legolas could say another word, he swiftly turned and walked away leaving the prince to stare after him in bewilderment.

Around the clearing the Elves were finishing off any of the creatures that so much as twitched and were cutting down the menacing webs. In the act of slicing through the tough strands of a web, Elladan paused to watch the brief encounter between his friend and his brother. He noted the puzzled expression on Legolas’s face; the closed one of Elrohir.

His twin had slain that spider with almost uncalled for brutality. He wondered if Legolas had recognized the emotion that had driven Elrohir to such a fury. He hoped not. For Elladan had seen that his brother had attacked that spider with all the passion and vehemence of an Elf intent on defending his mate from harm.

*****************************************  
Glossary:  
Edain – Men of the Three Houses of Elf-friends in the First Age  
Peredhel – Half-elf/Half-elven  
mellonen – my friend  
ellon – male Elf

_To be continued…_


	3. Disclosure

As the company made its way back to more wholesome environs, Legolas found his eyes drifting constantly to Elrohir. He had chosen to walk with another group of rangers, a matter that was so unusual it had elicited no small amount of surprise from the company. Legolas had the unhappy feeling that Elrohir was avoiding him but he could not understand why. Had he offended his friend in any way? He searched his memory but could not think of any plausible reason for the other Elf’s behavior.

Legolas glanced at Elladan who walked beside him. The older twin was also staring at Elrohir. But his expression was hard to define. His face was blank. Too blank. He was concerned about his brother, that much Legolas could tell but nothing more. 

They returned to the clearing where they had spent the previous night. Once more they set up camp but this time there were no untoward incidents as far as Legolas was concerned. Oreth had carefully kept his distance since he discovered that the prince’s reputation as a mettlesome warrior was well deserved. 

However, just as Legolas began to restring his bow, Oreth did approach him. He squatted beside the prince though not too closely, Legolas noted with some amusement.

“Did that creature injure you?” he briefly asked.

“Nay, Elrohir reached me in time,” Legolas replied.

“So I noticed. He should receive some reward for saving the fairest prince of Mirkwood.”

Legolas paused in his task. There was something in Oreth’s tone. Something he could not quite place. He glanced at the older Elf. “If my father gave a reward to every _Edhel_ that did me a service he would soon be mired in poverty,” he remarked mildly.

Oreth stared at him strangely. “Elrohir would likely prefer his reward came from you, Legolas,” he commented. “I doubt your father could give him anything as desirable as that which you already possess.”

Legolas eyed the other Elf curiously. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Oreth shrugged. “Elrohir seems... taken with you. It should not be difficult to please him. And perhaps he is more to your taste.”

The prince’s eyes narrowed dangerously. There was no mistaking the meaning or malice in Oreth’s tone now. “Take care, Oreth,” he warned softly. “You speak of a son of Elrond of Imladris.”

“As to that, stories do reach our ears even all the way from Imladris,” Oreth replied. "'Tis said that he is adventurous and indiscriminate. Even more than his brother who, by all accounts, is no laggard in the pursuit of pleasure. There is no telling what Lord Elrond’s younger son has already tried.” 

On that cryptic note he got to his feet and walked away. 

Come morning the company headed southwest. There had been reports of orcs in the vicinity, issuing from the heights of the Misty Mountains. They were said to be harassing small settlements in the area and steadily moving eastwards toward Mirkwood. 

The Elves of the Woodland Realm cared little for their neighbors on the western borders of their forest with whom they only had minimal contact. But they did care for the woods and the orcs despoiled the woods with a wanton cruelty that was unknown to the Firstborn. Fortuitously, by ridding Mirkwood of these predators they also succored their neighbors and this made their efforts all the more worthwhile.

At noon they stopped at a small glade for the midday meal. Once more Elrohir sat apart from his brother and friend. This only served to pique Legolas’ curiosity. He decided it was time to pry some information out of Elladan. 

After the meal, he approached the older twin who had settled himself on a log and was examining his arrows for any damage. Elladan glanced up in some surprise as Legolas sat down beside him.

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” the prince started. “How Elrohir killed the spider that had felled me?”

Elladan felt his muscles tense. Legolas would not have brought up the subject for no significant reason. Hoping to stave off or avoid the subject altogether, he teased, “Aye, and I cannot believe you needed saving. You actually did not see that huge beast. I thought you Wood-elves had eyes in the backs of your heads.”

Legolas smiled. “Even the best can make mistakes.”

“What? Even a prince of the Woodland Realm?”

“Yes, and you can stop trying to change the subject, Elladan. I know what you’re trying to do.”

Elladan rolled his eyes in resignation and sighed. “Very well. Ask what you will.”

“Why was Elrohir so savage? ‘Tis not his way. It never has been for as long as I have known you two.”

“You are asking why a warrior was savage in battle?”

“Nay, I am asking why Elrohir was so different yesterday. He hated the creature, Elladan. ‘Twas just a beast, evil perhaps but a beast nevertheless that had never done anything to him personally. Yet he slew it as if it had. Why was that?”

Elladan swallowed hard. So, Legolas _had_ noticed the difference. He had not discerned the reason, caught up as he had been in the business of staying alive, but he had noticed. He wondered how much he could reveal without actually betraying his brother.

“If my brother has been behaving oddly ‘tis because of late he has been sorely burdened with a problem,” Elladan said carefully.

"'Tis what I suspected,” Legolas said. “Can you not tell me what this problem is?”

“He has forbidden me to speak of it to anyone. Other than myself, only our parents know.”

“And what have Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían done to help their son?”

Elladan shook his head. “ _Adar a Naneth_ want to help but they are powerless to do so. Only one person can help Elrohir and unfortunately he does not believe that person can – or will.”

“You talk like a Wizard,” Legolas complained. “All allusions and no substance. Please speak plainly. What is this thing that burdens Elrohir so?”

Elladan hesitated. He was torn between keeping his brother’s confidence and seeking a solution to his brother’s problem. His dilemma was not made any easier when the solution could very well be sitting right beside him. He looked up and sought Elrohir. 

His twin was sitting by himself beneath a birch tree sharpening his sword with all the appearance of industry. But his mind was obviously not on what he was doing. And so lost was he in thought that he had not taken care to guard his face. He was deeply unhappy and it smote Elladan’s heart to see him that way. 

“He desires but his desire is not returned,” Elladan finally stated.

Legolas was surprised. “How can this be? He has always been capable of capturing any _elleth_ he desires.”

"'Tis not any of his past lovers who haunts his thoughts and bedevils his heart,” Elladan said. “He has come to yearn for a most unlikely person.“ Here he hesitated, uncertain whether to continue. But Legolas was looking at him intently, waiting for him to do so. He let his breath out. He had not been aware that he’d been holding it. “‘Tis no _elleth_ I speak of, Legolas.”

The prince’s mouth dropped open at that. “No Elf-maid?” he repeated after a long pause. “Then those questions he was asking…” He wonderingly peered at Elladan. “Why did he ask me? Did he fear that I would recoil from him?”

“Would you?” Elladan countered with his own question. 

Legolas fell silent. Involuntarily, he looked up, spotted Elrohir and stared at him. By chance the other Elf looked up, too, and their eyes met. Elrohir flushed and hastily averted his eyes. 

Legolas looked back at Elladan. “I would not do that,” he said slowly. “How could I, you and he are as brothers to me.”

Elladan stared at him hard. “Are you certain? He believes you will. You have shown yourself to be uncomfortable about such matters. ‘Tis why he refuses to share this with you.”

“I would not hurt him in that manner,” Legolas protested. “I have not forgotten Sirgon’s pain.”

“Neither has he.” 

Legolas stiffened. “How great is this passion of his?”

“Great enough. He does not know if ‘tis something that will eventually pass; he only knows it needs to be assuaged. Perhaps only then will he be released from this... obsession.”

“Then why not speak to this Elf? Is he not inclined towards Elrohir?”

“Nay, he does not desire the love of another male.”

“But Elrohir is different. He is fair of face, high of lineage and as skillful a lover as anyone could wish for. Surely this Elf would not mind doing Elrohir that one favor?”

Elladan stared at him disbelievingly then laughed, an ironic edge to his mirth. “Do you hear what you are saying? Would _you_ do this?”

Legolas stared back then nodded in rueful acknowledgement of his friend’s astonishment. “You are right, those were foolish words,” he said apologetically.

Elladan paused for a heartbeat. “Not if you meant them,” he said in a low voice.

Legolas frowned. “What do you mean?” When Elladan failed to respond at once, he said, “What are you suggesting? That I have influence over this Elf and can persuade him?”

“You might say that,” Elladan answered. 

He was looking so meaningfully at the prince that Legolas suddenly shivered with unknown foreboding. A thought began to form in his mind, a thought that seemed so preposterous that he was hard put to give it any credence. 

“Who is this Elf, Elladan?” he demanded softly, warily. “Who is he whom Elrohir grieves over?”

Elladan took a deep, steadying breath. “He will have my head for this but it needs to be said for his sake,” he murmured. He looked pleadingly at Legolas. “If I tell you now ‘tis because I desire happiness for my brother,” he told the prince. “I pray you will not only cause him more pain.”

“I swear I will not hurt him.”

A short silence. Then— “You are the one, Legolas.”

For the second time Legolas’ mouth fell open. He was unable to speak or move. Indeed, for a moment he could not even think. And when he did his first rational thought was, _Why did I not see it?_ Oreth’s insinuations finally began to make sense.

“Do you understand now why he fought in that manner? Why he followed you and Oreth?” Elladan asked softly. Legolas turned dazed eyes to him. “He was protecting you. He could not bear the thought that evil might befall you.”

Legolas’s eyes bore into him with an intensity that would have, had he been a mere Man, made him retreat in fear. “As one would protect his mate,” the prince stated evenly.

Elladan nodded. “What will you do now?” he asked worriedly. 

Legolas glanced back at Elrohir who had since risen from his position. “I will talk to him when time and circumstance allow.”

“Do not make me regret telling you this.”

“I would never wittingly hurt him.” Legolas hesitated. “But I cannot control his feelings or his response to mine.”

“Legolas...”

The prince heard the note of warning and worry in his friend’s voice. He held up his hand to forestall any further words on Elladan’s part. “I will do my best to help him. Come what may, he is still my friend and as dear to me as a brother.”

He rose and walked back to where the other rangers were packing their gear. Feeling somewhat drained, Elladan gathered his own things. _The problem is he no longer sees you only as a friend or brother, Legolas. Please remember that._ Elladan spared one more thought for his brother. _Forgive me if I have done ill in telling him, Elrohir._

oOoOoOo

They had marched for the better part of the afternoon and now drew near to the borders of the forest. Here the trees were not as close and the sun could filter down to reach the forest floor in large, scattered patches of gold. The Rivendell twins felt their spirits rise at the change in atmosphere.

Oreth selected a few of the company and began to divide them into pairs. It was his intention that each pair would scout a particular area and by spreading them widely they would be able to cover more ground in the shortest time possible. The rest would remain behind and await word from the others.

As he assigned the groupings, Legolas glanced at Elrohir. The Elf had rejoined his brother, but it was obvious he had done so only because Elladan had left Legolas’s side. The prince frowned.

“Elrohir? Whom shall I pair you with?” Oreth was saying. “Your brother?”

“Nay,” Legolas suddenly spoke up. “I can go with him.”

Across the circle of Elves, Elrohir stared at him in dismay. Oreth, too, eyed him quizzically. Then the captain smiled. It was not a nice smile, Legolas decided. He smiled back but did not let it reach his eyes. Oreth turned away.

“Very well, Legolas will go with you, Elrohir,” he announced shortly. 

While the assignments continued, Elladan caught Legolas’s attention. The Elvenlord was stricken with worry and guilt and his stare, if not his expression, betrayed his feelings. Before leaving with Elrohir, Legolas quickly crossed over to him and said, "'Tis an opportune time. I had best take advantage of it.”

“Remember your oath,” Elladan murmured.

Legolas nodded and turned to follow Elrohir. They disappeared from Elladan’s sight.

The two walked a fair distance in near silence before Legolas attempted to converse. They were now at the very outskirts of Mirkwood. Only a thin line of trees separated them from the open space beyond. The prince watched his companion smoothly weave his way among the trees, as silently and stealthily as any Silvan Elf. 

“Elrohir, I have not properly thanked you,” Legolas said, careful to keep his voice soft.

“For what?” Elrohir asked in surprise. They continued to move in a southwardly direction.

“For slaying the spider that attacked me.”

“Oh that. ‘Twas a small matter,” Elrohir said dismissively.

"'Twas no small matter to me,” Legolas remarked. “I might have ended up in its belly had you not killed it.”

Elrohir flushed slightly. “I did not mean to belittle the danger to you,” he said. 

“I know. And I thank you for the service. You probably saved my life.” When Elrohir merely nodded acceptance of his thanks, Legolas decided to be more direct. “Which is why I feel I must return the favor.” 

Elrohir glanced at him furtively from behind a slender tree. “There is no need,” he stated.

“If you have a problem there is a need. I wish you would let me help you, my friend.”

Elrohir now stopped and looked warily at him. “What are you talking about? What problem?”

Legolas came to a halt as well. He came around the thick trunk of an ancient oak and faced Elrohir. He did not fail to observe the quick rise and fall of the other Elf’s chest signaling his tension. “Your problem regarding me,” Legolas quietly replied.

Elrohir’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth then closed it when words failed to come forth. Legolas reached out a comforting hand but the other Elf stepped away. Legolas dropped his hand and waited.

“He told you?” Elrohir finally manage to choke. “Elladan told you?” At Legolas’s slight nod, he let out a ragged breath of anger. “I asked him not to!” he hissed. “How could he betray my confidence?” 

“He did it for your sake,” Legolas pointed out in defense of Elladan. “He loves you and wishes to help you. Surely you will not hold that against him.”

Elrohir went still, breathing in deeply in a bid to calm down. “Is that why you asked to be paired with me?” he asked.

“I thought it would give us a chance to talk,” Legolas admitted. “I want to help you, _mellon nîn_.”—my friend.

“Help me?” Elrohir laughed harshly. “You cannot help me, Thranduilion. No one can.”

Legolas winced at the impersonal address Elrohir used on him. “You do not know that,” he pressed on. “You have not asked me; how can you know that I cannot help you?”

Elrohir turned piercing twilight eyes on him. Legolas swallowed hard as he discerned the other Elf’s misery. “If Sirgon was bent, what do you make of me, _ernil daur_?”—forest prince—he challenged.

Legolas felt heat suffuse his cheeks. He had forgotten what had he said of Sirgon during that strange conversation just two days ago. He had used the word in an attempt to contrast the love of Sirgon and the lust of Oreth. It belatedly occurred to him that Elrohir would have perceived it as a slight and felt its sting keenly.

He chose his words carefully. “I only see someone who is dear to me and in need of my aid,” he said in measured tones. “I will not judge you. ‘Tis not my right and even if it were, I still would not judge you.”

The grey eyes suddenly gleamed with unshed tears. Elrohir turned away but his despondency was palpable. Legolas felt his heart go out to him. He approached him quietly and placed his hand on his shoulder. “What can I do, _gwador nîn_?”—my sworn brother—he softly asked.

Elrohir shook his head hopelessly. “What I need you cannot give,” he whispered. “Leave me in peace.”

“But you are not in peace and you will not find it,” Legolas reasoned. “Not this way.”

“What way then?”

The prince sighed. “I do not pretend to understand what drives your feelings for me. If I could assuage them I would but…”

“But ‘tis beyond your capacity to bring yourself so low,” Elrohir said, bitterness limning his words.

“Nay, not low. But ‘tis not my inclination and you would know it. I would not hurt you further by attempting something I know is not my preference.”

“You think I do not know that?” Elrohir pulled away from Legolas’s grasp. His voice had risen slightly. “Why think you did I choose not to confide in you? I witnessed your shock when you learned of Sirgon’s passion for you. I saw how you treated Oreth. I will not endure your loathing, Legolas.”

“I could never loathe you!” Legolas exclaimed in a hushed voice. “You are closer than friend or brother to me.”

“That, too, I cannot endure,” Elrohir breathed out.

“What?”

“Do you still not see? You are now more than either to me. Pretending that nothing has changed, that I do not feel differently about you has been a burden I have carried each and every day for nigh on three hundred years. It was a mistake to come here. Your very presence torments me.” There was a catch in his voice that made him sound utterly vulnerable. “I am weary, Calenlass. I cannot carry on with this pretense.”

Legolas felt his heart constrict. “What do you mean to do?” he asked tightly.

Elrohir stared out at the wide space beyond the trees. He looked spent, bereft of spirit and energy. “I will return to Imladris as soon as can be,” he answered. He looked back at Legolas and his eyes were bright with sadness. “And we shall no longer see each other, Prince of Mirkwood.”

Legolas gasped. “You cannot mean that!” he protested. “We have been friends for years beyond count. Elrohir, I do not wish to lose you!”

“You lost me the day I learned to desire you,” Elrohir said.

“Nay! You cannot do this! You are a son of Elrond – you cannot give up so easily!”

Elrohir swung around suddenly. His eyes had lost their listlessness. Legolas was startled by the depth of anger and the shadow of violence in them.

“Give up easily?” Elrohir almost spat out. “You have no concept of what I have done to try and relieve myself of these feelings! The depths I have descended to rid myself of these desires!”

Legolas felt his stomach churn. Surely Elrohir did not mean... “You have not...” He faltered. “Elrohir, I cannot believe you would do as Oreth has done!”

Elrohir closed his eyes, a pained look on his face. “You must think very lowly of me if you would actually consider me capable of coercion!” he commented with a dryness that was as acrid as hemlock. He opened his eyes and gazed at the archer. He took note of the other’s sudden pallor; knew his bluntness had caused it. He sighed. “I care not for unwilling partners. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Forgive me,” Legolas said. “That was unworthy of me.” He studied his friend with rising anxiety. He felt his guilt rise up like a cloud to choke him. _Remember your oath._ Elladan’s plea reverberated in his mind. 

“I should not have tainted myself so,” Elrohir suddenly said. “I sought to erase you from my mind but by trying to assuage my need through others, I only reminded myself of what I could not have. They tried their best to make me forget but how could they when they were not you?”

“Elrohir…” Legolas had never felt so helpless. How arrogant was I to think I could solve this problem so easily, he thought. “I just – I wish I could help.” He saw Elrohir’s shoulders stiffen, knew it was wrong to broach the subject once more. But in his frustration he found himself unable to hold back the words. “Is there nothing I can do?”

He was suddenly grasped by the arms and thrust bodily against the unyielding trunk of a massive tree. The force with which his back hit the trunk was enough to elicit a hiss of pain from him. But Elrohir was no longer capable of hearing or seeing anything beyond his own misery.

“When will you stop offering what you cannot give?” he snarled, his eyes glittering with barely restrained violence. “The only help I want is beyond your ability to give unless you have suddenly developed a yearning for this!”

Legolas gasped in shock when Elrohir’s mouth descended upon his. Unthinkingly, he grabbed at the other’s wrist for his first instinct was to protect himself and do to the Elvenlord as he had done to Oreth. But Elrohir broke away as suddenly as he had closed the distance between them, his dark eyes wide with realization. Guilt, dismay and grief mingled in their silver depths. 

“O, Elbereth, what have I done?” he whispered. 

Silence fell between the two Elves and the minutes ticked by.

In the intervening time Legolas fought to still his trembling. He had never experienced such an assault. There had been nothing like the tentativeness of Sirgon’s unrequited passion for him or the mix of seduction and coercion that Oreth had tried to employ on him. His lips ached as they had never done after a kiss shared with any maiden he had ever had. But more than that he was shaken by the sheer strength that had been brought to bear upon him.

‘And why should that surprise me?’ he woozily thought. He and Elrohir were equals in every way. They were both born of exalted lineage and possessed more power than most of the Elves their fathers governed.

He looked warily at Elrohir and felt as if a stranger stood before him. He did not know this Elf; did not see in him the friend with whom he had oft joined forces to drive their respective families to distraction; did not remember the brother in whom he had confided all the joy and heartbreak of early infatuations and the pleasures and frustrations of physical yearnings and received like secrets in return. He could not even glimpse the comrade-in-arms at whose side he had fought many a battle or faced danger with. He tried to dispel the shroud of fear that blinded him but failed.

Elrohir saw the shadow that darkened Legolas’s eyes and felt apprehension and shame engulf him. He cringed inside as he wondered what the prince now thought of him. But he had to do something. He had to make amends.

“Legolas...?” He reached out hesitantly, praying to the Powers that the other Elf did not feel too deeply betrayed. But as his hand neared one shoulder, Legolas recoiled. The prince let out a shuddering breath and swiftly stepped back out of reach, his eyes clearly mirroring his fear.

Whatever pain Elrohir had felt before did not compare with the anguish he now experienced. _I should have gone at once. Now there is nothing left, not even a memory of all that was pure and good._

“Forgive me,” he whispered. And he turned and fled.

Legolas sucked his breath in sharply. The sound of Elrohir’s broken apology snapped him out of his daze. He stared as his friend was swallowed by the forest. And suddenly, he remembered once more who Elrohir was and what he had been to him and still was. 

_He is breaking and I am the cause. I cannot let this happen!_

“Elrohir!” He raced after the dark-haired Elf. 

*****************************************  
Glossary:  
Adar a Naneth – Father and Mother  
Thranduilion – son of Thranduil 

_To be continued…_


	4. Impasse

Legolas painfully pondered what he could possibly say to Elrohir when he caught up with him. If he caught up with him at all. The Elf-knight was running along the perimeter of trees on the border of the woods. He had a large head start and was as swift a runner as Legolas and was as tireless. It would not be easy to catch up with him.

He finally lost sight of Elrohir and stopped to search for any clues as to his friend’s passage. It was then that he heard the sounds of metal clashing against metal and harsh guttural cries amidst the trees. _Orcs!_ His mouth grim, Legolas sped towards the sounds of strife. 

He burst onto a scene of carnage and chaos. Elrohir was fending off more than a dozen orcs. Several corpses lay at his feet. Even as he plunged into battle, Legolas had the presence of mind to sound off a shrill birdcall to summon aid. Then he was in the thick of the fighting, bow singing and knife slashing. 

He swore under his breath as more orcs appeared. He knew that he and Elrohir were in great peril. Skilled and valiant as they were, they were greatly outnumbered. Sooner or later they would be overcome if help did not reach them in time. He chose not to think of the consequences of capture. What sport these brutes would have with the sons of the king of Mirkwood and the lord of Rivendell he dared not even imagine. He would not allow himself to be taken captive. Better to die out in the clean air under the eaves of the forest than to endure protracted torment deep in the noisome dens of the orcs.

He was on the verge of despairing when suddenly a figure in green and brown crashed into the orc before him taking it down to the ground. He had a second to recognize Elladan before the Rivendell Elf plunged his sword into the writhing creature. Arrows whizzed through the air, finding their targets with deadly accuracy. Legolas felt great relief. They were no longer alone.

Reeling from the rapid change from imminent victory to certain defeat, the orcs began to retreat. But the Elves had no intention of letting any escape to spawn once more in the darkness of the Misty Mountains. They pursued the fleeing orcs and hemmed them in. Faced with certain death, the creatures fought back with a ferocity born of desperation.

Legolas turned to look for Elrohir just in time to see him stumble, a long deep gash marring his right thigh, blood drenching his leg. Yet he battled on though the orc he fought had forced him to his knees. The orc viciously kicked Elrohir’s wounded leg. The twin fell back, pain jarring his injured limb. Fear lent Legolas speed as he grabbed an arrow and fit it to his bow. 

Elrohir looked up and saw the orc raise its black sword. Certain he had fought his final battle, he braced himself for the killing blow.

It never came. The orc cried out in shock, its body arching toward Elrohir. He quickly rolled away as the creature toppled over. An arrow protruded from its back.

Elrohir glanced up in time to see Legolas wending his way to him. Around them the battle dwindled as the Elves systematically slaughtered the last of their foes.

Legolas dropped to one knee before the stricken Elf. As he bent to examine the wound, he heard Elrohir murmur, “My thanks.” Legolas simply nodded his acknowledgement, all his attention on the gash. 

Elladan hurried over, worry limning his fair face. Legolas grabbed his water flask as the former knelt beside him. "'Tis deep,” the older twin said. “We must stop the bleeding. I pray ‘tis not poisoned as well.”

Elrohir confirmed that there was no poison at work. Though the wound throbbed and stung atrociously, there was none of the burning pain associated with orkish poison. Elladan washed the injury then bound a strip of binding tightly around his brother’s thigh to constrict the steady crimson flow. 

The Elf-knight was not the only wounded though his injury was by far the worse. The Elves tended to their comrades before piling the carcasses of the orcs into a mound far from the woods and setting it afire. Then they applied themselves to the problem of getting their wounded back to safety.

Legolas and Elladan constructed a litter for Elrohir despite the latter’s protest. “I can walk,” he said. “I have no intention of slowing everyone down.”

“Your wound will bleed again,” Elladan reasoned with him. “Do not let Legolas’s timely rescue be for naught.”

At the mention of the archer’s name, Elrohir flushed and fell silent. That something pained him besides his wound was readily apparent to anyone who took the time to observe him. It was fortunate that the other Elves lacked the time to indulge in such matters thus sparing him the humiliation of coming under scrutiny. He already knew that the others were wondering how he and Legolas could have possibly been taken unawares. 

It stood to reason that they would find it difficult to consider their prince at fault; he was too experienced a ranger to make such a mistake. Elrohir was fairly certain they thought he’d been careless. And they would be right considering his state of mind at the time. 

As he lifted the litter along with Legolas and two other warriors, the older twin glared at the prince. 

“What did you say to him?” The hissed words filled Legolas with guilt. “I should never have told you. You swore you would not hurt him.”

“I... I tried to help... I am sorry,” he murmured.

Elladan blew out his breath angrily. "‘Twould have been better had you not than to have him so distraught now,” he bit out.

To this the archer could offer no reply.

They came to the Wood-elves’ abode after two days of long marches. By then Elrohir was able to walk short distances albeit with a limp. His wound was deep, almost to the bone but his determination not to be carried into Thranduil’s halls gave him the wherewithal to bear the discomfort of getting on his feet earlier than might be expected of so grievous an injury.

Legolas saw the brothers to Elrohir’s chamber but the coolness of the older twin and the remoteness of the younger discouraged him from lingering. Dispiritedly, he whiled away the rest of the day in his chambers, mulling over his dilemma. A part of him ached that he might have lost not just one but both of his friends. Elladan had barely spoken to him during the long trek back. Legolas could not blame him. The former had taken the risk of confiding his brother’s secret to him, trusting that the prince would help Elrohir. Instead, the problem had only worsened.

In need of counsel and comfort, Legolas headed for his father’s study. His people saw Thranduil as a stern and undemonstrative man. Few knew of the Elvenking who softened in the presence of his youngest son so long as there were no eyes to witness that softness. 

Legolas knocked softly at the study door. His father’s voice soon bid him to enter

“ _Ada_? May I have a moment of your time?” he asked as he stepped in. The king was standing at his table bent over numerous scrolls.

Thranduil pushed the scrolls aside and looked up. It did not take him long to discern the distress in his son’s eyes. “What troubles you, _ion nîn_?”—my son—he queried gesturing for Legolas to take a seat.

“I need your advice.” Legolas sank into a chair. “Do you remember what happened with Sirgon?” he tentatively started.

Thranduil started at the name. It was many years since he had even thought of the incident that had disturbed him so deeply. He looked at Legolas closely.

“One can hardly forget such an event,” he remarked dryly. “Why do you bring it up?”

The prince sighed. “Because it has happened again,” he quietly replied. “And I do not know how to deal with it.” 

Thranduil’s eyes widened then narrowed ominously. “You dealt with Sirgon well enough,” he pointed out. “Why should there be any difficulty now?”

Legolas raised bright eyes to his father, confusion and hurt in their depths. So like his mother’s eyes, the King thought with a pang. "'Tis no common Elf who suffers for love of me, _Ada_ ,” he said tightly. He hesitated then took a deep breath before saying, "'Tis Elrohir.”

Thranduil’s reaction was essentially the same as his son’s had been. His mouth dropped open and he was rendered speechless for a moment. When he finally found his tongue he could only exclaim, "Elrohir? _Our_ Elrohir?”

Legolas nodded. Thranduil stared long at him, nonplussed. “How can that be?” he questioned. “He has never shown more than the love of a friend for you. Granted that your closeness is greater than any I have ever known yet I would swear he never displayed any unseemly feelings for you.”

“I know not how it happened,” Legolas admitted. “I only know that he is hurting.” He rose from his seat and began to pace aimlessly around the chamber. “He kept it a secret from me. ‘Twas Elladan who finally revealed it and ‘twas only at my insistence.” He stopped at the window and fingered the tassel on the drapery distractedly. “Elrohir did not want to lose our friendship. He chose to keep silent for that reason even when it was tearing him apart inside.”

Legolas suddenly turned his head and looked beseechingly at his father. “Why must I be the cause of such pain, _Ada_?” he implored. “Why should Elrohir turn to me? I do not understand!” He shuddered with the effort to calm himself. “I want to help him. I cannot bear to see him suffering because of me.”

Thranduil’s anger had started to build but, at the sight of his son’s unhappiness, it subsided. It was Elrohir they were talking about after all. Elrohir, who along with his brother, were almost like sons to Thranduil despite all the mischief and mayhem they had oft wreaked on his household. Besides, the twins had been reared in the Noldorin-drenched culture of Imladris and Lothlórien. Thranduil could hardly judge Elrohir on something the younger Elf knew as natural to Elfkind. What had held him back was not social sanction but his fear of ending a treasured friendship. 

He made himself regard Legolas not as his son but as another Elf might. There was no denying the beauty of his countenance for handsome seemed too tame a word to use when it came to the youngest prince of Mirkwood. He had his father’s fair coloring and tensile strength and his mother’s comely features and slender build. He was a child of elusive light and solid wood. Ethereal one moment, all too real the next. 

Thranduil shook his head. Sirgon’s desire he could easily fathom. That one had always been inclined to his own kind. But Elrohir’s desire was totally unlooked for. Though he knew the twins had dallied with Elf-males, both had always been such hot-blooded pursuers of female-kind to suggest that either could feel anything more than mere lust for the males they had bedded. Yet here was Elrohir languishing from want of a male Elf. It simply seemed impossible. 

The King stopped at the thought. _Unless that male was Legolas and Legolas alone?_ Love and desire did not follow predictable patterns. All unbidden surprising turns could appear and often did, to the frustration and bewilderment of many a soul, Elf, Man or Dwarf. 

"'Tis not your fault, Legolas,” he said at length. “Do not blame yourself for what you are.”

“And what am I?” Legolas asked bitterly.

Thranduil neared him and with a finger under his chin, tipped his son’s face up so that he could look upon his face. “You are gifted with great beauty even by the measure of our people. Beauty always draws admiration and desire.” He released his son from his gaze.

Legolas let his breath out. “But why should that affect him now? We have always been as close friends and brothers to each other, nothing more.” 

“Perhaps ‘tis that very closeness that has brought things to this pass.” The King walked away, putting his thoughts in order. “I warrant he has always appreciated your comeliness even from the start of your acquaintance. Certainly, his regard for you has always been more profound than most, but I doubt he thought his feelings anything more than the natural affection of one friend for another.”

Thranduil looked back at his now attentive son. “But affection is not unchangeable. It can evolve, alter in depth or nature. Mayhap Elrohir’s desire for you should not surprise us. In hindsight, it seems inevitable.” At his son’s perplexed reaction, he pointed out: “The twins’ appreciation for beauty has always been keener than what we deem usual and they oft express that appreciation through physical means. Their considerable reputation in bed-play did not come by accident.” 

Legolas felt his cheeks burn with discomfort. It was strange to hear his father speaking so frankly about something most children rarely discussed with their parents. But what Thranduil was saying was very enlightening for there was the ring of truth in his words. He looked back upon his relationship with the twins.

He knew they were acutely aware of his uncommon beauty. They had teased him mercilessly about it throughout their early acquaintance. And when they had grown into full adulthood had been gracious enough to even compliment him for it albeit with much jesting on the side. Of course, that had not discouraged them from competing with him or his older brothers for the attention of every female Elf from the Woodland Realm to the Hidden Vale. But the twins’ carnal pursuits had also encompassed the Grey Havens and Lothlórien, included male _Edhil_ of all persuasions and extended even to mortal women much to their parents' dismay. 

In one thing his father was right. The brothers didn’t merely enjoy physical release. They reveled in it. They rarely contented themselves with admiring beauty or grace from afar. Both had often had to depart for Mirkwood or Lórien to cool their heels while Master Elrond and Lady Celebrían soothed the ruffled feelings of vengeful fathers or scorned females as well as the occasional heartbroken _ellon_. 

Enlightening. But it did not solve the problem at hand. He glanced thoughtfully at his father, wondering at the king’s relative lack of unease.

“You do not seem as disturbed by this as you were with Sirgon,” Legolas observed. 

Thranduil smiled faintly. “Because ‘tis Elrohir we speak of,” he conceded. “I can trust him as I would not trust another Elf.”

“Trust?”

“Not to take advantage of your closeness for his own ends. He has already proved his honor and valor in this. As you said, he endured in silence rather than spoil your friendship.”

“Yet now he will end it,” Legolas scowled. “What use have I for an unspoiled friendship that exists only in memory?” 

Thranduil sighed. “If ‘tis the only way for him to find peace, I cannot blame him for taking this measure,” he said. 

_They tried their best to make me forget but how could they when they were not you?_

His friend’s anguished words flashed through Legolas’ mind. He felt great sorrow settle in his heart. Elrohir would indeed leave Mirkwood never to return. Their long friendship would end and everything they had ever shared would be mere remembrance. The very thought of an eternity to come with no further contact with the Elf-knight made him desolate. No longer would he know Elrohir’s sage counsel and gently voiced praise, hear his infectious laughter or see the veritable play of emotions in his argent eyes. Already his heart ached at the imminent loss of the gallant _Edhel_ who had so enthralled him from the start and made him feel whole. 

Legolas rebelled at the thought. 

His circle of close and trusted friends had always been small by choice. And the twins were the closest of all. By the grace of the Valar, he had been blessed with the friendship of two souls who offered their love and loyalty absolutely and unconditionally. Elrohir’s willingness to put aside his own happiness to prevent Legolas from becoming entangled in his problem was testament to that love. 

Legolas knew he could not bear to lose the Elf-knight. 

“Do you think it will pass if he were to find release?” he softly asked his father.

“I do not know,” Thranduil replied. “Sometimes a thing that we want but cannot have grows in significance precisely because we cannot attain it.” He stopped and stared at Legolas suspiciously. “Why do you ask that? What are you thinking of, Legolas?” 

“Elrohir needs me,” he quietly replied. “If ‘tis the only help I can offer him…”

Thranduil gasped at the implications of his son’s reply. “Surely you cannot mean that! Elrohir would never allow you to make such a sacrifice!”

“I do not intend to give him a choice and have him make an even greater sacrifice!” Legolas replied somewhat heatedly. “He is dear to me. I will do what I feel is best for him; what will heal him.”

“And how often do you think will you have to effect this – this cure?” Thranduil said harshly.

“As often as needs be,” Legolas retorted. “I will not lose my friend. I will not!”

Thranduil halted on the verge of a scathing response. His son’s loyalty to Elrohir was touching, as was his willingness to take upon himself so strange a burden. Thranduil had no personal animosity toward Elrohir and even sympathized with him. But he was a father and possessed all the protectiveness of a parent towards its young.

“If you do not truly desire such a coupling he will know it,” he bluntly informed the prince. “Then you will have caused him even more pain.”

Legolas was taken aback. His father’s words effectively reminded him of the nature of the task he sought to undertake. A coupling. He recoiled mentally and emotionally from the images the term conjured. But that was what Elrohir needed from him. There was no going around it. 

“Do not rush into this, _pen neth_ ”—young one—Thranduil pleaded with him. “You may only do grievous harm. I say this not only for your sake but for Elrohir’s as well. He is dear to me, too.”

Legolas nodded slowly. “I will give serious thought to this, _Ada_. Thank you for your counsel.” 

The King watched his son as he left the study. He sighed, worry etched on his face. There was no knowing what Legolas would do. Nor was there any stopping him when he did decide what to do. Silently and with not a little exasperation, he invoked the Powers who watched over headstrong Elves and children.

************************************  
Glossary:  
Edhil (sing. Edhel) – Elves 

_To be continued…_


	5. Truth

Elrohir looked out at the darkened woods. It was evening and he was seated on a long bench on one of the balconies that lined the delved palace’s eastern wing. He had lifted his long legs onto the bench, bending one so that he could rest his arms on his knee and curl the other limb under. A week had passed since the battle with the orcs. His injured leg no longer caused him to limp and only a slight twinge now and then reminded him of his mishap. 

He could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter coming from the main hall where the king was feting some noble guests. Although his twin had talked him into dressing for the occasion, at the last minute Elrohir had chosen to eschew the festivities for he could summon neither the heart nor the mood to indulge in anything merry this night. He had come to this quiet spot in hopes of solitude and a chance to sort out his thoughts and feelings. From his perch he could survey the dark woods and breathe in the sweet forest air. 

Sadness infused him as he realized he would never see these woods again. His had not been rash words when he had declared that he would depart Mirkwood and never return. It was the only thing he could do to ease his heartache. Far from the source of his desire perhaps he would find some semblance of peace. And failing that at least there would be no constant reminders of his last conversation with Legolas and the resulting debacle. He sighed heavily.

“How fare you, Elrohir?”

He started and turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Trust a Wood-elf to sneak up on you without really trying, he thought a little tartly.

“ _Im mae_ , Legolas,” he managed to reply. I am well. 

He swallowed hard at the sight of his friend and quickly turned his attention back to the forest. It had been three days since they had so much as seen each other, much less exchanged a word. He had been ill prepared to see the prince once more. Especially the way he appeared tonight.

In the torchlight, his fair hair gleamed gold and mithril and his eyes had so darkened as to be almost indigo. Upon his head he wore a simple circlet wrought of silver and adorned by tiny intertwining leaves of gold. He was clad not in his usual green and brown wool or leather or other such sturdy material but in a delicately embroidered richly textured midnight blue robe over a silvery white under-tunic. In place of the rugged long breeches and soft yet hardy boots worn for more strenuous duties were thick finely knit hose in muted grey and light shoes in a dusky shade that came up to the ankles. He looked every inch the warrior prince yet the fairness of his hair and countenance juxtaposed against the darkness of his raiment lent him an air of innocence that was almost otherworldly. 

Elrohir thought he had never seen a more beautiful creature, man or woman, and he silently cursed the trick fate had played on him by guiding him here and making it possible for them to cross paths. _I should have stayed in my room._

“You did not join us,” Legolas said. “Several of the guests asked about you.” 

“I was not in the mood for company,” Elrohir answered. 

Legolas sat down on one end of the bench and looked at him. His steady gaze discomforted Elrohir. The dark-haired Elf was at a loss as to where to cast his eyes without letting them alight on the figure opposite him. He did not notice that the prince studied him as well. 

Legolas had taken his father’s counsel to heart. He had given much thought to the matter and had come to only one conclusion. If he could come to desire or, at the very least, tolerate a coupling with the Elf-knight as his father had so baldly put it... 

With singular determination, Legolas bent his thought to appreciating his friend’s comeliness unhindered by the restraints of their friendship; tried to see Elrohir from the point of view of the younger twin’s numerous admirers and past lovers. He knew Elrohir was coveted by many and that those he’d favored never forgot the bliss experienced in his arms. That Elrohir had easily found willing partners when he’d sought a way to find release without turning to Legolas was further evidence of his inimitable allure. 

They were a study in contrasts, Elrohir and himself. 

The Rivendell Elf’s hair was blue-black as the deepest night and his thickly lashed eyes grey as the twilight of early evening. He was tall and lean though not as deceptively slim as the prince; traces of his _Edain_ ancestry lingered in his broader shoulders, his less slender limbs. Yet he always moved with the fluid grace, feline surefootedness and feather-light silence of a pureblooded Elf, his powerful muscles rippling with ease whether he wielded sword, bow or dagger. 

Elrohir always gave an impression of sartorial elegance whether dressed in the simple clothing of a Mirkwood ranger or arrayed in formal garb as he was tonight. Like the prince he wore a circlet upon his head, also of silver but stark in its relative lack of adornment. Going with the rich colors favored in Rivendell, he had donned a velvety robe in deepest burgundy edged with bronze and a soft under-tunic of a particularly scrumptious shade of cream. His long legs were encased in hose the color of deep wood and his feet were shod in bark brown shoes. 

There was no mistaking that here was a scion of the line of Lúthien, daughter of Thingol Lord of Doriath and Melian the Maiar on the one side and on the other, Idril daughter of Turgon of ancient Gondolin and her husband Tuor, an _Adan_ so fair of face he could have passed for one of the Eldar. 

There is as much beauty in him as there is said to be in me, Legolas mused. Would it be so difficult to submit to him? Surely, with one so fair and noble, intimacy would not be too strange or unpleasant. He was also remarkably skillful besides. The Mirkwood prince knew all too well of his friend’s reputation on yet another battlefield where he wielded weapons of a different kind with as equal ability as he did those of more martial design. 

Legolas set aside such considerations. In the end it did not matter. He had to make the attempt come what may. But he needed courage to do it. In Elrohir’s answers to his questions he hoped to find it.

“If you were to have what you want do you think your desire would pass?” he asked as he had earlier asked his father.

Elrohir, startled, stared at him. “I have not thought of it,” he slowly replied. He let out his breath. “This madness has probably grown because I cannot quench it. If I did, then aye, mayhap it would pass. But I cannot say for certain.” He averted his eyes once more. “Why do you ask?”

Legolas sensed the other Elf’s apprehension. In the way of Elves, he answered with another question. “Why me?” he queried. “What turned you to me?”

The query drew back Elrohir’s attention. He gazed at Legolas for a while before answering. “My foremother Lúthien is accounted the fairest of all the Children of Ilúvatar that was or ever shall be,” he murmured. “It is said that there will never be her like again. I do not agree. There is one who could rival Lúthien in beauty, grace and purity of heart.”

“Arwen,” Legolas smiled fondly though he was puzzled as to what Elrohir was leading up to. “Not for nothing have your people named her their Evenstar.” 

Elrohir’s own smile was tinged with both affection and sadness. “I am only her brother and cannot see her thusly. Nay, ‘tis an _ellon_ I speak of. And do not tell me that that invalidates the comparison in any way,” he added when Legolas looked surprised. He paused and drew a steadying breath. 

” _Elyë nar ve vanima tambë i-ára, maltaharyon_ ”—Thou art as beautiful as the dawn, golden prince—he softly stated. “The closest thing to perfection that I have ever known.” 

For a few seconds, Legolas found himself at a loss for words. Elrohir had spoken in Quenya, the melodic Ancient Speech, a language of lore chiefly preserved in Middle-earth by Elves of Noldorin descent and the Dúnedain; a tongue no longer uttered in public as a rule. Its use imparted great reverence and deep affection for the recipient. It added greater depth and meaning to the praise the twin bestowed upon the archer. 

“I did not know you regarded me thus,” he finally said. 

“I did not realize it either,” Elrohir replied. “I thought I was merely enamored of your comeliness. Though through the years I have come to know you well and what I know I find admirable and worth loving and nurturing. I never meant to want more than that.”

“Why did things change?” 

“Sirgon happened.” 

Legolas’s eyes widened slightly. “What did Sirgon have to do with your feelings?”

“When I saw you kiss him, when you allowed him to caress you, I saw you in another light. I realized that I was jealous. You cannot imagine how frightened I was by the feeling. I should not have felt that way.” Elrohir looked away, his own cheeks coloring. “I suddenly wondered what it would be like to be intimate with you, to know you as no other _ellon_ has or ever will.”

He glanced back and took note of the fair-haired archer’s expression of incredulity. “Did I not call it madness?” he said softly. His next words dripped with irony. “Amusing, is it not, that I who have made a name as a breaker of hearts should now be the one to know desire unrequited. Is it not the greatest jest that having so extolled the delights of woman-flesh I should now obsess over an Elf-male instead and he my own best friend at that? ” 

“You have no notion of what it is like to couple with others for no other reason than because they somewhat resemble the one you desire. To not even feel lust but only desperation? It was degrading for both them and me. Yet that is what I was driven to do. But the more I used others to try and quell my need, the more I felt the difference between them and you.” He chuckled bitterly. “It was like trying to quench my thirst with mere ale when what I wanted was vintage wine. Perhaps ‘tis the Valar’s way of chastising me for my past sins.” 

He looked at Legolas; saw how disturbed the prince was by his frank narrative. He drew a weary breath and turned his eyes once more to the shadowed woods. “I am sorry to have disturbed you so, _gwador_. But you need worry no longer about this lunacy of mine. I will depart for Imladris tomorrow and trouble you no more.”

“That I cannot allow,” Legolas quietly replied. “I told you I would not lose you. I was not jesting.”

“Legolas—”

“I will give you what you desire, Elrohir.”

Elrohir turned his head with a jerk and stared at him in astonishment. “What?” he gasped. “Are you insane?” When Legolas simply shook his head, he paled. “I do not wish for you to make this sacrifice.”

“You make it sound as if it would be a hardship for me.”

“It _is_ a hardship if ‘tis not your desire.”

“Then ‘tis your responsibility to ensure that I do _not_ find it a hardship,” the prince retorted. “You and Elladan have always said ‘tis in our nature to respond to the touch of both _ellon_ and _elleth_. Why should I not experience pleasure in your arms? Skillful ones at that from what I have heard of your exploits.” 

His words left Elrohir speechless. It took him several seconds to form a response of some sort. “Why would you do this?” he asked. “Pity? I will not accept pity from you.”

“Nor would I give it. I would never insult you so.” Legolas leaned forward and cupped Elrohir’s chin with his hand. “I do this because you are dear to me and I refuse to lose you.

He rose to his feet but retained his gaze on the other Elf. “Think about it,” he said, his voice soft and gentle. “When you have made your decision, come to me. I will be in my bedchamber.”

He silently walked away. Elrohir stared at his retreating figure. He did not know what to think or do. And he was seriously torn between a need to weep and the urge to go into hysterics. He realized his hands were shaking visibly and he quickly clenched them. As lucidity returned, he considered the consequences of consummating his desire.

_He offers it now. But when it comes to the actual act, he will not be able to do it. Where will that leave me? Caught between fulfillment and frustration. Can I endure that?_

He bent his head and covered his face with his hands. _Sweet Eru, what should I do?_

************************************  
Glossary:  
Edain (sing. Adan) – Men of the Three Houses of Elf-friends in the First Age  
ellon – male Elf  
elleth – Elf-maid

_To be continued…_


	6. Yielding

Legolas turned his head, his ears picking up the soft rustling sound. A figure stood in the shadows of his balcony, half hidden by the draperies. It was Elrohir. 

He had doffed his robe before climbing the tree outside the window of his own chamber and using it to traverse the short distance to Legolas’s balcony. Sans the heavier outer garment his lean yet finely muscled form became more distinct. 

Elrohir stepped forward then paused as he caught full sight of the prince. Legolas had risen to sit upon his bed, his long legs stretched out before him. He was clad in naught but his under-tunic and hose. His hair, silvery in the moonlight, was unbraided and hung down his back like a silken curtain. He looked young and pure and almost unreal.

Chiding himself for being so easily perturbed by his friend’s appearance, he approached the bed and sat down on its edge. 

“You could have used the door,” Legolas said, a smile in his voice.

“I thought it would be more discreet this way,” Elrohir replied. “I do not wish to needlessly discomfit you.” After a moment, he murmured: “I do not know if I should have come. I do not wish to force this on you.”

“I am not forced,” Legolas said. “I do this of my own free will.”

“So you say.” Moving closer to Legolas, Elrohir took a deep breath and turned slightly to face the prince. He had already decided on a course of action that would tell him whether to proceed or not. If he sensed that Legolas could not continue, he would stop and leave.

After some hesitation, he silently raised his hand and gently tucked a strand of silver gold behind the other’s ear. In doing so, he allowed his fingers to run through the soft locks. His eyes did not leave the prince’s face.

_You flinched when Oreth did this to you._

Legolas heard the thought and wondered if Elrohir intended to communicate entirely through their minds. That was not surprising. The Eldar more than the other elven races practiced the art assiduously. Though he was not as adept at it as his friend, he responded in kind.

_Oreth’s need was base._

_And mine is not?_

_Nay. I know the difference._

Elrohir nodded slightly. Gently, he brushed the shining hair from the prince’s shoulder revealing the side of his neck. Slowly, taking care not to seem threatening, he leaned forward. 

Legolas tried to remain calm as Elrohir pressed a kiss to his neck. Nevertheless, he was startled by the feel of it. It was different from the womanly caresses with which he was familiar. He could not explain what made it so; it simply was. He trembled a little as the Elf-lord’s lips trailed upwards to just below his ear then lower to the crook of his neck. To his surprise, it did not feel unpleasant. Indeed, it raised prickles of pleasurable sensation that made his pulse quicken slightly. 

He became sharply aware of Elrohir’s scent, so different from that of a Silvan Elf. It evoked the sparkling waters of the Bruinen, crisp, clean air beneath open skies, warm sunlight on peaceful meadows and the heather and pine upon the slopes of the valley where Rivendell lay hidden. He'd always deemed it inordinately pleasing. Now he found it enticing as well.

Elrohir drew back and again their eyes met. Legolas could not quite repress a shiver. He clearly read in the twilight pools desire barely restrained, passion just waiting to be unleashed. He drew in a shaky breath as Elrohir started to undo his tunic.

With slow, deliberate movements, the warrior unlooped the lacings on the silvery garment, never looking at what he was doing, always watching the archer’s face. With sudden insight, Legolas realized that he was replicating what Oreth had done in his attempt to seduce the prince. Following on the heels of that thought was the realization that Elrohir was waiting to see if he would resist further intimacy.

Elrohir did wonder that Legolas did not recoil. He began to dare hope. Even now he felt his restraint beginning to crumble. It did not help that he was so close to the prince that he could feel the warmth of his skin, hear the soft intake of breath as he undid the last loop. 

Legolas became aware of Elrohir’s hands spreading his tunic open. He lowered his eyes, his face flushing. How odd that after a lifetime of closeness he should now feel shy. Throughout the centuries of their acquaintance they had seen each other in various states of undress, even total starkness on occasion; why should it bother him now?

It came to him then that he was not baring himself before a friend but a lover. A male lover. That was reason enough to make him distinctly uncomfortable.

_Can I do this?_

He had not meant for this thought to reach Elrohir and so was startled when he received a reply.

_Do not force yourself. I will leave._

He glanced up and looked at his friend. Elrohir had pulled back his hands; his face was impassive. But he did not guard his eyes quickly enough, could not hide the disappointment and the hurt of rejection. The effort to clamp down on the desire, to bank the fires of passion was all too visible in those pools of twilight. Lest Legolas read more in them, Elrohir averted his eyes. He began to rise but Legolas grasped his wrist. He looked back warily. 

Legolas stared at the lean wrist he held and marked its barely tamed power. Whatever he chose to do now, it would be irrevocable. I made this offer, he reminded himself. It was my choice. 

“ _Dartho_ ,” Legolas whispered. Stay. 

It was enough and too much.

Restraint snapped, resolve broke. Elrohir leaned forward and captured his lips. The prince forced his mind to go blank. Better not to think, just feel. But he was not prepared for the deeper kiss that Elrohir drew him into and could not quite suppress a gasp of apprehension. It was different even from the kiss in the woods. That had been so brief that he'd hardly had time to register it beyond its bruising force. But this! 

He became acutely aware that there was a world of difference between the kiss of an Elf-maid and of a male Elf. Not so much the feel or taste of it – for Elrohir’s lips were soft and warm and amazingly sweet – but the power, however restrained, behind it. 

Feeling Elrohir’s hands on his arms, holding them with startling strength, he reflexively gripped Elrohir's arms in turn in a defensive gesture. The motion only brought the warrior's might into sharper relief for he could feel the ripple of muscles beneath the fine fabric of his sleeves. So disturbed was he that he drew in a shuddering breath when Elrohir finally broke the kiss. But then he was eased down upon the bed and he found himself fighting to still his suddenly racing heart.

For the longest moment he panicked for the feeling of power and hardness upon him was wholly unfamiliar, as were the hands that held him down – the hands of a peerless warrior. 

Elrohir's lips were upon his neck and throat, edacious and seeking. Legolas felt his breath coming in short spurts. Try as he might he could not stay his alarm and it took all the discipline he could muster not to recoil from his imminent submission. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, tried to think past his fear. His grip upon Elrohir's arms tightened though he strove not to actively resist. 

Elrohir sensed his friend’s discomfort, felt the trembling of his body, was aware that Legolas was finding it difficult to shift from a more familiar mode of intimacy to one he had no experience of. He also knew that all the skill he possessed would be of no avail if his friend failed to subdue his fear of this manner of coupling. But he could no longer rein in his passion. Things had gone too far. 

The mere sight of Legolas with his shining hair spread on the pillows and fair skin flushing was simply too much for him to resist. Even the prince’s scent was intoxicating. Of tree and leaf and flowers on the forest floor did he think and hidden streams, wild berries and herb scented breezes. With fingers that slightly shook, he tenderly brushed stray strands of silver gold from the prince’s cheek. 

‘It is beyond my strength to stop now. Forgive me, my Greenleaf,’ his thoughts reached out entreatingly. 

Legolas felt the racing of his heart slow down. His eyes opened and he stared at the Elf above him. In his fear he had forgotten. This was Elrohir and the Elf-knight loved him. He would do nothing that would hurt him. He peered at the countenance above him and centered all his thoughts and feelings on its breathtaking comeliness. His fears started to diminish, his resistance faded. 

“ _Elyë nar ve vanima tambë i-undomë, Eldaroquen_ ," he murmured. Thou art as beautiful as the twilight, Elf-knight. 

Elrohir’s eyes widened both at the return of his earlier praise of the prince’s beauty and the similar intent behind his use of the High Speech. The argent pools glittered with appreciation.

The archer relaxed beneath him, his grip loosened and his arms slowly slid around him, not to oppose but to reassure and convey his willingness to continue. 

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ Legolas assured him silently. 

Elrohir’s lips closed upon his once more, kissing him so tenderly, so sweetly, it all but took his breath away. He opened himself to the experience, allowing pure sensation to wash over him. 

Once past the initial shock, Legolas found Elrohir’s kisses and the touch of his knowing hands more potent than he’d ever expected or imagined. He could not suppress the tremors that passed through his body or the soft moans that escaped his lips. The countless tales of Elrohir’s skills as a lover did not do him justice if he could arouse so many turbulent feelings in Legolas this easily. 

He managed to hold himself steady while Elrohir slowly undressed him though he shivered at the covetous gleam in the twin’s eyes when they beheld his bared body. Appreciative, too, and greatly so, particularly when the silvery pools alighted on the vicinity of his groin. He could not help blushing then. He was quite used to that gleam in Elf-women's eyes. And lately he had come to recognize it in the furtive gazes of the few males bold enough to flout the inexorably though slowly waning Mirkwood prejudice against such passions. But never had he reacted as he now did to Elrohir’s desirous regard. He wondered if it was because the Elf-knight was his dear friend or due to something far more complex than he was ready to unravel at the moment. 

The warrior shed his own clothing and Legolas caught himself keenly admiring the flawless symmetry of his friend’s form. Elrohir was more than beautiful by any standard; he was magnificent. He also found himself staring in fearful fascination at the Elf-knight’s undeniably formidable length. It was the first time he’d ever seen Elrohir naked while the latter was in a state of arousal. Elbereth, it was a veritable sword! 

Confusion clouded his mind at his unaccountable attraction to his friend’s body. It was an unfamiliar feeling. He had experienced physical attraction to other males before but had been taught to consider such feelings as admiration for beauty or appreciation of worth. Not that the feelings had ever evolved into anything recognizedly carnal in nature, not even remotely. But this was different. The twin educed an acute visceral response that the archer had not previously known even with the most comely of other _ellyn_. Or _ellith_ for that matter he realized with a jolt. He could not deny it; Elrohir had awakened something deep within him and even now that something was making him feel sensations and emotions he’d once considered next to impossible. 

Elrohir saw the bewilderment in Legolas’s eyes and comprehended the permutations that were taking place within his friend’s heart and soul. Mindful of the other Elf’s inexperience and innocence in being loved by another male, he took his cues from the prince’s reactions. Much as he ached to seek his own release, the need to pleasure the archer was paramount if the entire experience was to be as memorable as he intended it to be. 

“Trust me, Legolas,” he murmured as he slowly covered the prince’s visibly trembling body with his own. 

Legolas shivered as bared flesh touched bared flesh. Caught his breath when their lengths touched. He shakily whispered: “I trust you. Do as you will.” 

Elrohir silently took exception to his friend’s words. This coupling would not be for his pleasure alone. He would ensure his Greenleaf knew complete satisfaction before the night was over. Any other outcome was unacceptable. 

Gently, slowly, he trailed kisses over Legolas’ face, up to the delicate tips of his ears, down his throat to the sensitive hollow at its base; smiled secretly as he felt his friend quiver in the first throes of burgeoning passion. He put the knowledge of secrets Legolas had confided to good use now. He knew what the prince enjoyed, the places that were responsive to pleasure. 

As he moved down the length of Legolas’s frame, he listened keenly to the prince’s responses, stayed alert to the changes in the latter’s body. He teased the roseate nubs gracing the archer’s chest and was pleased to hear the sounds Legolas could not stifle. Lavished warm kisses and heated caresses upon the taut belly and slim hips and was gratified to feel the withy body thrum with steadily growing pleasurable tension. Taking his time, he steadily moved lower, paying homage to the slender thighs and the silken lines that joined them to groin, his own passion barely kept at a simmer. He clamped down firmly on the urge to ravage the lissome form beneath him. 

Legolas bit his lip as yet another moan escaped him. He had not thought it possible for him to enjoy Elrohir’s attentions but it was and he did. A part of him was dismayed that he could respond this way to his friend but another was filled with wonder and curiosity. Further musings were abruptly cut off when the Elvenlord shifted his position. 

With a start, Legolas realized Elrohir’s face now hovered directly over his groin, felt his warm breath upon his damp skin. Before he could even guess what might happen next, the warrior’s tongue flicked over his shaft, once, twice. He sucked in his breath in shock and stared down just in time to see himself disappear between Elrohir’s lips. 

“Elrohir!” 

The twin glanced up at his gasped cry, his eyes lust-darkened. “Has no maid ever done this for you, _malthernil_?”—golden prince?—he asked huskily, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

“Nay,” Legolas managed to reply. “At least, not that way!” 

The twilight eyes darkened even further. “It should not matter,” Elrohir said, his smile rakish, “but it gladdens me that I am the first.”

Legolas fell back with a stifled groan as Elrohir resumed his sensual task. The prince clawed at the bed sheet as he was repeatedly enveloped in the moist warmth of the twin’s mouth and skillfully brought to peaks of pleasure he'd never previously experienced. He could barely summon enough lucidity to wonder where the Elf-knight had learned his lessons and learned them oh so well. 

His breath hitched when a finger slipped in behind to probe him, slick with what he did not know. It was not painful but dauntingly intrusive. He trembled when yet another finger made its way in; drew unsteady breaths as tendrils of delicious sensation radiated from his lower body where Elrohir stroked him from within. He had not known about the sensitiveness of that part of his body. Apprehension assailed him then. 

He’d done this for many an anxious virgin maid to accustom them to the sensation of first penetration but he’d never expected it to be done for him. It was ironic, really, considering that it was Elrohir who had taught him all those centuries ago to always handle inexperienced partners with extra care. Not even in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined his friend would one day perform the same service for him. But then again, who would have thought Elrohir would also be his bed-teacher in this? 

But soon it became impossible to think of anything at all beyond what the twin’s talented mouth and fingers were wreaking upon him. It distracted him quite effectively from thinking about Elrohir's intent; only sensation registered. He could do nothing other than to obey the instinct to rear into the molten source of his rapture, push onto the gently stroking fingers, forget everything but the maddeningly enjoyable feelings that forced sounds from him he’d never heard before. He suddenly panicked at the unfamiliarity of such mindless joy and tried to pull away from the mouth that so adeptly drew upon him. 

But Elrohir caught him fast, held him down and refused to let go. Discerning the reason behind Legolas’s attempt to escape, he decided to bring his friend to completion soonest. His suckling turned aggressive, his probing fingers more persistent. For the first time, the archer knew the twin’s full lust and mastery as the latter let go of all restraint. 

Voraciously sucked, tenaciously stroked – Legolas sobbed Elrohir’s name out loud, pleaded for an end to the exquisite torture. Was it possible to know too much pleasure? He felt he would go insane from it. 

Release came in a tumultuous wave, overwhelming him in its fury, leaving him gasping for breath in its wake. He shuddered helplessly as Elrohir practically drank him down. He lay back limply, breathing unevenly, utterly drained. 

The bed shifted beneath him as the darkling Elf altered his position. Opening his eyes, he saw Elrohir looking down at him, his dusky eyes darker than he’d ever seen them before. “I have wanted to do this for so long,” the warrior murmured. “I am glad you enjoyed it.” 

“I...I did not know such pleasure existed,” the prince admitted, blushing at his friend’s admission. “What you just did is... is amazing.” 

A low chuckle was his reply and a thrill snaked its way through his nerves at the sound of it.

“Thank you, Calenlass, but ‘tis only the beginning,” Elrohir murmured. 

Legolas’ eyes widened at the thought of more to come. He wondered if he could survive another round of such intense pleasuring. Elrohir smiled at his reaction then leaned down and kissed him; the prince tasted himself on the other’s lips. Fascination supplanted some of his anxiety and he wondered what would follow.

Hands wrapped around both their lengths and stroked them in unison, inexorably bringing him to renewed arousal. Once more his breath quickened with the pleasure; he was as much undone by the sheer intimacy of the act as by the sensations wrought by it. He closed his eyes trying to cling to whatever strands of sentience he still possessed. Fingers purposely brushed across the tip of his shaft and he opened his eyes in time to see Elrohir coat his own length with their mingled seed. ‘So that’s what he used on his fingers earlier,’ he thought with amazement. 

He tensed as his hips were raised, his legs gently lifted to snake around the other’s waist. A pillow was slipped beneath his slightly upraised back. He could not quite stifle a shuddery breath as he realized what that portended. He'd never felt so vulnerable in his entire life. Not to mention confused.

Only once had he ever witnessed a joining between two males when he had stumbled upon the Imladrin warriors, Daurin and Enedrion, coupling in a concealed glen in the hills around Rivendell. He had vivid memories of Enedrion on his hands and knees and Daurin taking him from behind. That was how he’d expected Elrohir to take him as well. But looking up at the Elf-knight, seeing his eyes gleaming with mingled lust and concern, he realized he preferred to face his friend. 

He could seek courage in his reassuring gaze, knew that if he experienced any distress, Elrohir would see it at once and assuage it or, conversely, heighten his pleasure as soon as he felt it. And he knew then that Elrohir had anticipated all of these things and intended to make his first yielding an exceptional and joyful one. 

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Elrohir said softly, seeing his friend’s anxiety. “Try to relax, Legolas. It will be easier for you if you do not resist me.”

Legolas softly breathed, “I know,” and willed himself to calm down. 

With one sure thrust, Elrohir mounted him. Legolas gave a muffled cry. He trembled in shock at the sensation of being invaded then completely filled. Not quite painful as he had expected save for a slight burning sensation that swiftly subsided. But it was unfamiliar, not something he’d ever expected to happen to him. Alien. 

_And yet not._ Astoundingly, his body accepted the intrusion as naturally as any female's would though it experienced the normal discomfort that came with being untried. This discovery following on the heels of his body’s enthusiastic approval of Elrohir’s earlier attentions brought home to him even more clearly how right the twins had been in their discourse on elven duality. They were made for either kind of coupling. The duality was in him though he'd been conditioned from birth to suppress it all unknowingly. 

The thoughts swirled around in his mind with lightning swiftness while his body adjusted to the novel sensation. He gazed at Elrohir with wide-eyed wonder. It was the signal Elrohir awaited and he began to move, driving shallowly into Legolas at first, seeking something… The prince hissed at the burst of pleasure a thrust fetched him. As he had done with his fingers, Elrohir focused on stroking the same place that brought on such toe-curling sensation. Guttural groans slipped past Legolas' lips as he tried to corral his wits and retain some semblance of control. 

“Enjoy it, Greenleaf,” the Elf-knight’s dulcet voice breached his rapture-fogged mind. “Do not fight it.” 

Elrohir's eyes never left his face, the dark pools all-aglow with hungry elation. His thrusts became harder, deeper, always angled to pleasure the archer from within. Legolas' already erratic breathing turned into sobbing pants when Elrohir’s hand enveloped his reawakened length, rhythmically caressing it even as he rode him. The sensations heightened until he was writhing with need, moaning incoherently. He reached out blindly, grasping desperately at the twin’s thighs. 

“Elrohir, please,” he heard himself begging. “ I cannot... Ah, you will drive me mad!” 

He unraveled further when Elrohir bent over him to kiss the sensitive spot at the crook of his neck. He was so close to exploding now and the almost unbearable feeling of pleasure coming from three different directions all at the same time drove him over the edge, shattering whatever control he might still have possessed. Acting purely on instinct, he acquiesced to his body’s demand to heighten the incredible feeling of being filled and delved and he clenched his muscles around Elrohir’s shaft. He completely came undone a split second later. In that bliss-drenched instant, he tightly sobbed the twin’s name. 

The sound of his name intonated in just that way coupled with the spasmodic tightening around his length crushed Elrohir’s heretofore rigid hold on himself and he joined the archer in the rapturous storm of their joining. Legolas felt a thrill race through his very veins as he heard his name uttered with profound, rough-voiced felicity. He trembled in the wake of his second release. Somehow, Elrohir had done the unthinkable. 

I have never come to completion twice in succession in so short a span of time, he dazedly admitted to himself. And both times with such torturous, explosive joy.

Elrohir thoughtfully removed the pillow from under him before gently withdrawing; so gently, Legolas hardly winced. The Elf-knight planted a last lingering kiss upon his lips and he sighed at the tenderness of it. Legolas opened his eyes and watched Elrohir draw the covers up over their bodies before lying down close beside him. He lay quietly for a moment, sorting out his thoughts and feelings, waiting for his body to calm down. Elrohir slipped a protective arm around him. He turned his head and gazed at the warrior. 

Elrohir was on his side, his cheeks rosy from his own release. He was looking at him intently. “Did I hurt you?” the twin asked in a hushed voice.

Legolas shook his head. “Not at all,” he whispered.

“That is good.” Elrohir wondered at the way the prince regarded him. He began to feel concern about what had just passed between them. Was his friend now regretting his choice? “Legolas, I—”

The prince placed his fingers against his lips and said with a small smile. “Sleep, _mellonen_. I think we both need the rest,” he murmured.

Elrohir hesitated then nodded and relaxed into the pillow. His concerns could be left until the morrow. For now, Legolas was right. They both needed to rest. 

*****************************************  
Glossary:  
ellyn – male Elves  
ellyth – Elf-maids  
mellonen – my friend

_To be continued…_


	7. Denouement

The sun was just beginning to peek through the clouds when Legolas slipped out of bed and slowly dressed, a mild ache in the lower regions of his body calling to mind what he had undergone just hours earlier. As he drew on his clothes he glanced at the recumbent form that had lain beside him. He shivered at the memory of what had occurred between them the night before. 

I have never been more afraid in my life, he realized. He did not know how he had borne the height of their coupling. To surrender control and accept conquest. _To be the sheath to the sword._

He paused, caught between a shiver and a sigh. Truth be told, he was not certain whether the turmoil he felt was born of what he had endured – or of what he had enjoyed. ‘Was it just Elrohir’s considerable skill or did I learn something about myself this past night?’ he wondered. 

He looked upon his sleeping friend once more. Not just my friend any longer, he realized with mixed emotions. _Melethron nîn._ My lover. 

Elrohir’s handsome face was peaceful, the lines of his body more relaxed than they had been the past several days. The prince reached out and brushed strands of dark silk from the darkling Elf’s cheek. He regarded the beauty of the other’s features as he had the evening before. 

On that I anchored my determination, he mused gravely. But something more helped me to continue and I cannot tell if it was solely for our friendship’s sake. Not yet.

oOoOoOo

Elrohir slowly awakened, his mind gradually emerging from the elven dreamscape. For a moment he was content to lie still and remember.

_Elbereth, that was such a strange dream._

He eased himself up on one arm and drowsily looked about. And then his mind snapped to awareness. He was not in his room. He recognized the fixtures, the furniture and the walls. He was in Legolas’s bedchamber lying in Legolas’s bed.

He drew his breath in sharply. Had last night really happened? Or had he been so in need that he had at last failed to distinguish between his waking dreams and reality? But there was no getting around the fact that he had awakened in the bed of his friend. He shook his head in confusion. Ridiculous to think that he had sleepwalked his way there. And anyway Elves might walk while in the midst of their dreams but they certainly did not walk in their sleep. 

Bemused, he sat up and tried to clear the remaining cobwebs from his mind. He had not slept so soundly in what felt like ages. That in itself told him that something had happened. His body, too, felt different. He was sated. It must have happened. He felt a sense of release that had been absent for so many years. It _had_ happened. He did not know whether to be joyful or worried. For one thought came to him on the heels of his discovery. Where was Legolas? 

He turned toward the sunlight pouring through the balcony door. The draperies had been drawn back. It was then that he saw him.

He was seated on the balustrade, staring at the forest beyond. Clad only in tunic, hose and light shoes, his hair still flowing free, he looked serene and innocent. Elrohir, reluctant to disturb him, silently rose from the bed and dressed. When he was done he went to join the prince. He was about to step onto the balcony when Legolas turned his head and looked upon him with curiously veiled eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” he quietly asked.

Elrohir found himself unable to fully face his friend and look into his eyes. Truth be told, he was afraid of what he might see in those cerulean windows once Legolas chose to unveil his feelings. He did not move from his place.

“Very well,” he murmured. "'Tis the first good night’s sleep I have had in many a year.”

“That is good to hear.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Elrohir gazed at the figure before him. Images of the night before lingered in his mind and he found it hard to reconcile the acquiescent Elf who had yielded to his passion with the enigmatic prince who now surveyed the woods in silence. He wondered if the experience had left an unpleasant mark on his friend and if that would now mar their relationship permanently. 

“Do you regret what you did?” he softly inquired.

Legolas turned to face him. Elrohir was struck once more by the crystal clarity of the archer’s eyes. 

“I do not regret anything,” he replied. “As long as you are happy.” After a pause, he added, “Are you?”

“More than you can possibly imagine,” Elrohir breathed.

A slight frown marred the prince’s brow. “You do not look very happy,” he said. “What troubles you?”

Elrohir sighed. “I fear that in accepting your offer I have hurt you in turn, _ernilen_.”—my prince. At the other’s expression of puzzlement, he explained, “I felt your distress last night. You could not hide your fear. You must have suffered.”

“Nay, I did not. You made certain of that.” The corners of Legolas’s fine lips turned slightly upwards.

Elrohir, aware that he was being teased, felt his face color. “I am glad you did not find it too unpleasant,” he managed to say.

“You also seem given to understatement this morning,” Legolas added, the teasing in his tone becoming more evident. 

Elrohir blushed in full but he refused to let himself be distracted from what he needed to say. “It would not have been right if only I experienced any pleasure,” he murmured. “But even the reward of pleasure cannot change the fact that this was not of your wanting. I know how hard it must have been for you to do something you never desired.” He swallowed hard. “I should have stopped,” he whispered. “I should not have let you make such a sacrifice.”

When Legolas would have spoken he swiftly raised a hand to forestall him. “I know how you felt. I was frightened, too, the first time I lay with another _ellon_. But at least I truly wanted the experience. But you... you had nothing to help you endure it.” He lowered his eyes before Legolas should see his self-recrimination. “I have sated my desire but I am not sure it was worth the price you paid.”

Legolas gazed at his friend. _I should not have left his side while he was still asleep. Not this first time. He thinks me distant and full of regret._

“Come here,” he said softly. 

The twin hesitated at first then did as he was bid. Without warning, Legolas grasped him by his shirt, pulled him close and kissed him full on the mouth. Elrohir’s gasped at the unexpected gesture. Legolas drew back and cupped the other Elf’s face. Blue eyes held grey. 

“You are wrong, it was worth the price,” he quietly said. “And I did have something. I had your love and the love I have always borne you. That was more than enough to see me through. And, as you put it...” Dropping his hands, he drew back and Elrohir saw that he was smiling and that his smile reached his eyes. “It was not unpleasant. Not in the least.” 

Holding the smile, Legolas patted the balustrade behind him. After the space of a moment, Elrohir accepted the invitation. Legolas leaned back against him and he curled a supporting arm around his friend's shoulders. 

Elrohir pressed his lips against the fair locks. He felt Legolas's hand on his arm, warm and reassuring. His fears dwindled.

_Hannon le._ Thank you. 

_To be continued…_


	8. Epilogue - Resolution

The twins extended their stay by another week. 

Having finally attained what he had so long desired, Elrohir was reluctant to forego it so soon. Sympathizing with his brother, relieved and pleased that his twin was happy, Elladan did not insist on leaving as originally planned. Instead, he good-naturedly endured the other’s predictable tendency to gravitate toward Legolas and eased his occasional exasperation by indulging in a prank or two for old times’ sake. That he managed to lure Legolas’s brother, Brethildor, and friends, Mithrael and Heledir, into joining him did nothing for Thranduil’s peace of mind, of course, but after the tension of the preceding days, the Elvenking proved to be of a more benevolent disposition. However, even the most idyllic holidays must come to an end and the twin lords made ready to depart. 

Legolas saw them to the great stone doors of Thranduil’s cavernous halls. _Edro._ At his silent command, the heavy doors swung open to reveal the wide bridge before the hill. There the Rivendell retainers and mounts already awaited their masters. 

It was a sunny day and the clearing before the bridge was dappled with golden light. A fine day to start on one’s way. With a slight motion of his head, Elladan gestured to the other Rivendell Elves to move away. It was time for farewells and he knew that his brother would want some privacy.

He turned to Legolas a little apologetically. “Forgive me for not trusting you, _gwador nîn_ ”—my sworn brother—he said. “I should have known you would not forsake Elrohir.”

“Do not apologize,” Legolas replied. “Your fears were not totally unfounded.”

Elladan nodded. He noticed Elrohir waiting impatiently for him to be done and was amused. “You have brought back the light in his eyes,” he softly told the prince. “My thanks, Legolas. You are a true friend and brother.”

They embraced before Elladan yielded his place to his twin. He tactfully led his mount a little distance away but not before slyly whispering to his brother a furtive, “Your turn.” He grinned at the latter’s quick blush.

Legolas smiled as Elrohir almost shyly faced him. “I do not know what to say,” the dark-haired Elf admitted. “Save that I owe you so much.”

Legolas shook his head. “You owe me nothing. You gave me as much as you took.”

Elrohir looked at him in puzzlement. “Did I?” he said. “What in Arda could I have given you?”

“A new experience and an unforgettable one. All our years together, you have introduced me to so many.”

Elrohir looked at him doubtfully. “You may yet regret this,” he said, his countenance tensing slightly. 

“So little faith in me, Elf-knight?” Legolas gently chided. Color stained Elrohir’s cheeks anew. The prince quietly said: “Everything you have taught me I cherish, _gwador_. I will never regret this.”

Elrohir gazed at him with something close to awe. “You are incredible,” he softly said. 

This time it was Legolas who blushed. After a moment, he looked at Elrohir thoughtfully. “Has the ‘madness’ passed?” he asked.

Elrohir considered the question. “In truth, I do not know,” he said. “Perhaps time apart from you will tell me. I fear I will only know for certain when we meet again.” He looked ruefully at his friend. “At least, now you need not trouble yourself with me any longer. That should make you glad.”

Legolas placed his hands on Elrohir’s shoulders and gripped them reassuringly. “Your departure does not gladden me,” he told him. “I am ever bereaved when my closest friend must leave for I enjoy your companionship and thrive on the love you have always shown me.” He withdrew his hands, his eyes sparkling merrily. Elrohir thought he had never seen eyes so blue. The archer cocked his head, a small smile on his lips. “And... if it has _not_ passed, I will be here for you as long as you need me.”

Elrohir stared at him in astonishment. At that moment he realized anew the great treasure that was his friend. “‘Tis no wonder that you are so dear to me, Calenlass. I never want to lose you be you lover, friend or brother,” he told Legolas, his voice vibrant with affection and gratitude. 

Legolas’s smile widened and he drew Elrohir into a tight embrace. “Safe journey to you, _mellonen_ ”—my friend—he murmured. “Farewell.”

He watched the brothers mount. As their steeds trotted across the bridge, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew without looking that it was his father.

Thranduil watched the twins depart. “Well, _ion nîn_?”—my son—he asked. Three words but Legolas knew a multitude of questions rested in them.

“I am quite all right, _Ada_ ”—Papa—he said.

The twins and their retainers were at the mouth of the hidden path. Just before they entered, Elrohir looked back. Twilight eyes met azure ones across the clearing. The Elvenlord raised his hand in a final farewell. Legolas did the same. And then the company was gone.

Thranduil looked doubtfully at his son. “You do not seem to have suffered overmuch,” he commented.

“Did you expect me to?”

Thranduil snorted elegantly at the oft-used ploy of countering one question with another. “It would almost seem that you enjoyed yourself,” he said. “I will not deny that that unsettles me.”

Legolas turned to face the king. “I was unsettled, too, the first night we spent together—” he began. 

Thranduil interrupted with some incredulity. “The _first_ night?” he repeated.

Legolas gave his father a pointed look. “Healing does not always come in an instance, my lord,” he said.

Thranduil frowned. “Legolas, did you not feel any aversion at all? Were you never troubled?” He regarded his youngest son.

Legolas understood how his father felt. “Of course I was troubled,” he admitted. "'Twas not my inclination. Even now I wonder that I was able to endure it.” He stopped and corrected himself. “Nay, that is not right. Elrohir did not only take pleasure. He gave it as well and in great measure. I confess I have never known the like in all my years,” he murmured almost to himself but the older Elf heard nonetheless. 

He saw his father tense; sensed the discomfort of the Elvenking. But he had never been less than honest with his sire and he would not start now. 

“I learned something about myself. Elrohir showed me what we have tried to subdue all these ages. I can no longer regard it as unnatural when I have experienced for myself that it is as much a part of me as breathing. Indeed, what Elladan thought troubling was not Elrohir’s desire but that I of all people should be the object of it.” 

He paused a moment, giving his sire time to come to grips with his revelations. Legolas added: “Though 'tis not a thing I would actively seek; I am not wholly at ease with it. Not yet.” He had to smile at Thranduil’s obvious relief. “Still...” He looked at his father questioningly. “ _Ada_? Would you disown me were I to leave the path you taught me to follow?”

Thranduil hesitated then shook his head slowly. “As you said, there are things that we have tried to subdue in our nature. I have long anticipated that our alliance with Imladris would lead to a resurgence of the old ways in this realm. I just never expected that you would walk the ancient path or that Elrohir would be the one to guide you down it. But even did it not exist, you are still my son. I would never cast you away no matter what you should choose to do.”

Legolas smiled gently. “As I cannot turn from Elrohir whatever he may choose.” 

Thranduil sighed. “And what if his desire does not pass?” he queried.

“Then I will do this again for as long as he needs me. I love him and I intend to be there for him.”

“And you would not be my Legolas if you did not feel that way about your friends,” Thranduil murmured, much softened. He suddenly frowned and glanced in the direction of the hidden path. “Which reminds me, would you know if the _gwanûn_ had a quarrel with Oreth?” 

“With Oreth, my lord?” Legolas repeated in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“Oreth reported to me last night and I had Galion bring him wine. When the good captain drank it, his lips and teeth turned a very vivid green.” Legolas choked on a gasp of laughter. “Galion says he saw the twins lingering around the kitchens near the cup into which he had just poured the wine. Unfortunately, he has no evidence whatsoever that it was they who tampered with it. Would you know if they were behind this deed?”

“Nay, I know nothing about it,” Legolas chuckled. “But it does sound like something that they would do.” 

The King sighed. “And I thought they had finally outgrown their fondness for mischief. I should have known better.” Thranduil shook his head in resignation. “Thank the Powers they are not _my_ sons. How Elrond and Celebrían manage to keep their sanity around them I would rather not know. I have enough to do keeping _you_ out of trouble.“ He regarded his now laughing son somewhat severely. 

Legolas looked at his father, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You are receiving the delegate from Dale next month, are you not? I hear he is full of self-importance and can be quite long-winded in his speeches.” He nearly laughed again as the King leveled a suspicious stare at him. “Perhaps we can invite the twins back for the occasion. They have an uncommon gift for making even the most tedious proceedings interesting.”

The glower and grimace he received from his father was all that he could desire. He grinned as his less than amused sire strode back to his halls. 

_Valar, that felt good!_

*******************************************  
Glossary:  
edro – open  
gwanûn – pair of twins

_End of Part IX._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part X: Aftermath - Leagues apart in their respective realms, Legolas and Elrohir ponder the strange turn their friendship has taken._


End file.
